


All the Sights of Paris

by writingonpostcards



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Getting Together, M/M, Meet-Cute, Paris (City), Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11110836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingonpostcards/pseuds/writingonpostcards
Summary: Eric and Jack meet atop the Eiffel Tower. It's the beginning of a few whirlwind days together, but Eric's leaving soon. How much can really happen between them in just a few days?Jack holds out his hand and Eric takes it. Instead of shaking it like Eric was expecting, Jack pulls him in gently, and kisses him once on both cheeks. “See you around,” Jack says with confidence.





	All the Sights of Paris

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin, I have to thank a few people who were so helpful in the creation of this fic.
> 
> To [M](http://happyzimm.tumblr.com/), who kindly agreed to create the wonderful artwork that starts off this fic! Thank you, thank you, thank you.
> 
> And to my two lovely beta readers, [Gabrielle](http://loveyoutoobits.tumblr.com/) and [Silvia](http://notenoughgatorade.tumblr.com/), who made sure all the words were in order, and made actual sense. You guys are amazing.

 

 

 

_“all the sights of Paris pale inside your iris” - Tower of Learning, Rufus Wainwright_

 

 

Eric hears the voice break through the clutter of other languages. It’s accented, but it’s English. Finally.

“Excuse me.” He taps the shoulder of the man who’s been speaking on his phone.

The man turns, and Eric’s breath catches. He’s gorgeous. If Eric knew, he probably wouldn’t have approached him at all. Eric enjoys flirting, generally speaking, but he’s terrible at flirting when he actually cares to.

But that’s not why he interrupted this man’s enjoyment of the Eiffel Tower.

“Yes?” The man says, looking down at Eric from a fair few inches above him.

Eric clears his throat, and tries to clear his head of distracting thoughts about the man’s eyes. “I was wondering, would you be able to take a picture of me, please?”

“Sure,” the man agrees with a shrug, and a small smile.

Eric is relieved. He’s been waiting for almost ten minutes for another English speaker. He didn’t think it would take so long, and he was too nervous to try using hand gestures to communicate with a non-English speaker, even though everyone up here is probably used to it, or has done it themselves.

“Thank you so much,” Eric says gratefully. He hands the man his phone, camera app already open. “Just tap anywhere on the screen.”

“Alright,” the man accepts, looking down to the camera screen.

Eric moves back to the edge of the platform and smiles at the camera. The man takes a few moments to figure out Eric’s phone, then he lifts his gaze to Eric. His eyes narrow slightly, and he takes a step to one side before lifting the phone and taking the photo.

“Hang on, I’ll take another,” he says, already moving to a new angle.

Eric just keeps smiling, though he’s been holding it a while and thinks it’s slipping into being fake. He moves his arms to a slightly different hold in case the other one turns out bad. He doesn’t want to have to ask this man to take another photo just because his arm looks funny. He’s intruded enough.

The man raises Eric’s phone again and points it toward Eric. Eric can see him tapping several times, taking multiple photos. The man has got little furrow lines between his eyebrows, which Eric can’t help but think is very attractive. There’s something about a man so focused that speaks to Eric.

After taking the few photos in a row, the man looks down at Eric’s phone, swiping obviously to look through the pictures he just took. He’s frowning. Eric feels a little bit of worry creeping in. He walks over to the guy, to stop him from looking at any photos other than those he’s taken. Eric thinks it’s over the line to have done so without asking. He for sure wouldn’t do it.

“Thank you so much for that,” he interrupts loudly, holding his hand out right over his phone.

“No,” the man says.

Eric blinks, taken aback. “No?”

The man shakes his head. “I’m sorry, these aren’t good.” The man is still flicking back and forth between photos.

“You took a lot. I’m sure there’s a good one in there.” Eric moves his hand to try and block the camera again.

“No,” the man repeats with frustration. “You’re too—The phone isn’t good enough.” He finally hands it back to Eric, who takes it slowly, flicking through the new photos on there. They look alright to him. Miles better than what he’d be able to get by himself.

“Do you have a proper camera?” The man asks, looking hopefully at Eric.

“Uh, no.” Eric pockets his phone. “I mean, I left my camera back in the States. I’ve just been using my phone on the trip.” He isn’t sure why he adds the extra information on the end. He probably shouldn’t be rushing to tell a stranger about himself and where he lives. Especially as he’s still feeling a little wary about why this guy is so into taking Eric’s photo. His face is so earnest though, and Eric’s always been horrible at telling people no when they show that kind of emotion.

“Do you mind if I…?” The man pulls around the camera that’s been slung across his torso, holding it up in a question.

Definitely interested in taking a photo of Eric. It’s one thing to accidentally wind up in the background of someone’s holiday snap, but to be specifically requested is a new experience for Eric. New and unsettling. Though, a small part of him can’t help but feel flattered by an attractive man’s attention.

Eric doesn’t know too much about cameras, besides what he researched for his vlog back in the day, but he knows enough to realise the man is holding a good, very expensive, camera.

“You really don’t have to,” Eric stutters out, worrying in the back of this mind about the intentions of this man. As much as Eric is sure the camera the man is holding will result in a better picture than Eric’s phone could hope to achieve… photos of Eric would then be in the possession of a total stranger, destined for who knows what purpose.

“You asked me to take your photo. I want to get it right.”

That sentence doesn’t do anything to lower Eric’s growing sense of unease. Why is it always the incredibly attractive ones who are total creeps? Normally, Eric can tell right away if someone is going to pull something uncomfortable over on him. He hadn’t read that at all in the eyes of this guy. Maybe the sparkling blue distracted him. They really are gorgeous, almost matching today’s summery sky.

“Look, I’m sorry, but I do mind,” Eric has to say eventually, because this guy isn’t picking up on subtle clues like Eric’s crossed arms, and the distance he’s tried to put between them. “I’m really happy with the ones you’ve already taken,” Eric softens his rejection. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Eric looks over the guy’s face one last time, trying to catalogue obvious features (beside the eyes, which Eric is sure he won’t need help remembering) in case he needs to file some kind of harassment report later. He hopes he won’t have to. He hasn’t heard great things about French police, and there’s always the issue of him not speaking French, which is what got him into this mess in the first place.

He turns around and walks quickly past the dozens of people who are up here with him. He’s halfway around the platform when he hears someone calling out.

“Hey, wait. Wait!”

Eric clutches the straps of his backpack tightly and turns around to see the man has followed him. At least he looks contrite about it.

“I should apologise. I’m sorry, really. I didn’t approach this very well.” Eric eyes him warily, noting that at least the guy has managed to leave a generous distance between them. “Hindsight. I should have explained. I’m a travel photographer.”

The man gestures to himself, and looks hopefully to Eric. “Professionally published. When I said, I wanted to take a photo of you… I meant for my book. I’d send you copies, of course.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Eric asks, totally gobsmacked by what’s just come out of this man’s mouth. He admits he maybe got a little carried away, as he fled from the guy, imagining dreadful scenarios where he gets cornered, or stalked, or… but this is different. “You’re asking me to, to _model_ for you?” Eric tries to clarify, dropping his hands from his backpack.

“No,” the man says hurriedly, then backtracks. “Well, not officially. That’s not what the book is like. But yes, I guess I am.” The guy smiles at Eric, cradling his camera in his hands. “I know I’d regret it if I didn’t ask. You’re very photogenic.”

Eric looks at him, still not entirely convinced. It’s for sure flattering to hear honest compliments, even within a strange setting, and it helps finally knowing where this man’s interest in taking Eric’s photo is coming from. Still, it’s a very strange request.

“Well, I…” Eric begins, but trails off, not quite sure yet how he wants to answer. He’s somehow tripped onto the set of a Hollywood romance, he can’t help to think. Attractive lead. Meet-cute. They’re in Paris for crying out loud, and not just that, but atop the Eiffel Tower.

“Hang on, maybe this will—” The guy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slim leather wallet. “Here.”

The man holds out a card. Eric takes it. It’s a business card for Jack Zimmermann, travel photographer with Essential Media. Eric brings the card closer to his face. Surprisingly, Eric knows that company, because they also produce a number of food magazines to which Eric has a monthly subscription.

“So, what do you say?” The man asks, smiling eagerly at Eric. Eric gets distracted by it for a good few seconds. He—Jack—really is very gorgeous. Now that he knows Jack’s not a creepy stalker, but an actual published photographer, Eric is feeling a lot more open to him and his suggestion.

A voice in his head warns him from acting too rashly though. A second voice reminds Eric of just how pretty Jack’s eyes are.

“I’m not saying yes,” Eric hedges, but can’t help from adding a, “Yet.” Eric sees Jack try to hide a reaction to the added word. “But I’d like to ask some questions about the book.”

“Yes. Of course. Go ahead,” the man tells Eric eagerly, dropping his camera down for the moment.

A small child runs past them, bumping into Eric and forcing him to step into Jack. The world gets very quiet for just a second, as Eric collides with Jack, and Jack’s hands come up to steady him. Eric blinks up at Jack, who, thankfully, isn’t looking down at him. Eric thinks his face is probably flushed red from embarrassment.

“Maybe we should…” Jack nods his head to the inner wall of the platform.

“That’d be good,” Eric agrees, thankful when Jack pulls away to stake out a place for them. Eric’s even more thankful when he sees Jack’s figure from behind for the first time. Wide shoulders, and thick thighs that show even though his jeans aren’t fitted.

Jack turns to look to Eric, who hurriedly moves to catch-up with him, trying to shake the image of Jack’s ass out of his head. There’s been plenty of very attractive people he’s seen so far on his trip. Jack really shouldn’t be making Eric as distracted as he is.

“What do you want to know?” Jack asks once Eric has squeezed himself between two family groups to hug the inner wall beside him.

“I guess…” Eric doesn’t know what to ask first, interested not only in the book and Jack’s work, but Jack himself. He’ll save those questions for later, if he even gets an opportunity to ask them. This may be an entirely professional exchange, for all Eric knows, and Jack could be gone tomorrow. “You said your book wasn’t like that. What is it like?”

“More candid.  It’s meant to show Parisian culture.”

Eric frowns. “Why do you want to photograph me? I’m very much _not_ Parisian.”

“True, true,” Jack agrees. “Actually, I had a similar conversation with my director when she first outlined the book proposal to me. I should have said, it’s Parisian _tourist_ culture. So, people exactly like you,” Jack says with a gesture and smile to Eric. “It’s meant to be different to a lot of what’s out there already.”

“Fair enough. I imagine there are hundreds of books already to try and capture the ‘real Paris’,” Eric puts the inverted commas into his voice.

“Thousands.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, for sure. I’ve actually already done a book on Paris for these guys, but, it’s Paris. I’m not going to turn down an all-expenses paid trip.”

Eric thinks about the tiny, tiny apartment he’s staying in, a few stops outside of central Paris. The best he could afford and still have spending money, and enough left in his bank account when he gets home. He wonders if the company Jack works at has him in something similar, trying to cut costs, or whether Jack’s staying in luxury while he’s here. Eric doesn’t presume he’ll find out.

“Anything else?” Jack prompts Eric.

“Have you asked people before? To model,” Eric clarifies.

“Sure. Not many though.”

“What did they say when you asked?” Eric is curious. Also, he’s hoping for some guidance on whether he should let Jack take his photo for the book or not.

“It’s a mix, really. Most people say yes after I explain, which is nice. I always make sure to send them a copy of the books once they’re published, if they’re happy to give me a posting address.”

“How does it work, then. If I say yes, what happens.” Jack starts, raising his eyebrows at Eric. “I still haven’t said yes,” Eric reminds him.

“I know, I know,” Jack says with his palms out. “Okay, so, as I said, it’s meant to be candid. So, you’d do your thing, and I’d just follow and take photos. Maybe get a posed one or two as well.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad,” Eric replies, thinking about how it would feel to walk around the platform here, knowing that Jack is taking photos of him. It’s not weirding him out to think of it. He actually, maybe, is kind of drawn to the idea. He’s never been shy of being photographed, and Jack’s already complimented him on being photogenic.

“Oh, actually,” Jack says suddenly “I would definitely take a few posed ones of you. I forgot that’s how this started. I promised I’d take some nice ones to send you.”

“I don’t think you promised that, actually,” Eric says, fairly.

“Well, I am now. I promise to send you some _good_ holiday photos.” Jack puts an unfair amount of emphasis on the good.

Eric straightens up from where he’s been leaning against the wall. He narrows his eyes at Jack. “Are you implying my other holidays photos are bad?”

Jack shrugs loftily. “I am a professional photographer.”

“And a pompous one at that.”

“I’m not so bad. You should never meet a sports photographer, though,” Jack adds darkly. “They really are pompous.” He flashes a sharp smile at the end, which leaves Eric questioning whether he’s serious or not.

Eric thinks over the short exchange of communication. His momentary doubts about Jack’s character have gone, and really, as he stands and takes stock of how he’s feeling… he’s excited. The thrill of something out of the ordinary—even though Paris is already far out of his ordinary—is making Eric’s skin tingle pleasantly. Meeting Jack, and speaking with him, even that small bit of teasing they slipped into just then, it’s waking Eric up like new batteries.

“Would I need to sign a contract?” He asks Jack, drawing their back and forth out even longer.

“Don’t you trust me?” Jack asks, smooth and charming.

“I barely know you.”

“But I’ve got one of those faces, don’t I.” Jack leans in, “That you’d spill all your secrets to.”

Jack smiles and it’s gorgeous and thus unfair because of how true his words are. Two sentences in, back several minutes ago, and Eric told Jack where he’s from, totally unprompted.

“You know,” Eric begins, leaning in himself and somehow having the effect of blocking out all the surrounding hustle and bustle of people on the platform with him. He watches as Jack’s eyes slip from his own momentarily, dropping down then up again. “You’re really not disproving to me how pompous you are.”

Jack pulls back to laugh, and loses the almost sensual gaze he’d been laying on Eric. The noise of the crowd rushes back in as Eric breathes deeply, and he goes back to leaning on the wall.

“So, a contract?” Jack asks. Eric nods. “I could get one for you if you like. Normally I don’t bother because, like I said, candid. If you’d feel more comfortable though, I’ll get work to send me one through.”

“You must really want to take my photo.”

“Yes,” Jack adds simply, eyes on Eric. “I do.”

Eric bites his lip and turns away from Jack for a moment. He’s already decided to say yes, so there’s no point drawing it out now. Except…

Eric wants to. Once Jack takes his photos, that’s it. All that’s left after that is one email, and then they go their separate ways. Eric knows it’s too early to feel it, but he doesn’t want to part with Jack yet. It feels too good to talk to someone, joke with someone, have his heart pound because of someone.

He turns back to find Jack still looking at him.

“Alright then. When in Paris.”

Jack laughs and it’s just as beautiful as his smile.

“Thank you…” he trails off and raises his eyebrows at Eric.

“Oh right. I’m Eric Bittle.”

“Jack Zimmermann.” He holds out a hand for Eric to shake. It almost dwarves Eric’s. “Nice to meet you.”

Eric echoes the sentiment.

Jack drops his hand, and Eric curls his fingers up slowly into his palm.

“Would you mind standing over by the barrier again?” Jack asks, switching back into what must be his professional mode.

“I thought we weren’t doing posed photos?” Eric asks with some confusion.

“We’re not. I just wanted to get the ones to send to you before I forgot.”

“Oh, thanks.” It’s a smart move. Eric had forgotten to remind Jack by this stage anyway.

Before Eric’s made it to the barrier, he can hear the click of a shutter, even over the babble of tourist chatter. He looks over his shoulder at Jack, who snaps another picture without warning. Eric feels himself flushing.

“No fair,” he tells Jack. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jack says with a smile and a shrug.

Eric thinks it does matter, thank you very much, if these are the photos for him to take home. He makes it to the barrier and turns around, smiling at Jack and watching as he zooms in and out, fiddling with various features on the camera. He takes way more photos than Eric thinks he’ll need. Surely, they can’t all end up being used in the book.

They have to stop every now and then as people walk in-between them, but Jack often takes a photo of those moments anyway. Jack’s not talkative as he takes photos, which is strange after their emphatic conversation just before. It’s probably better than the alternative, Eric thinks, imagining a horrifying scene wherein Jack walks around and shouts ridiculous phrases to Eric. Eric laughs at his own imagination, and then can’t stop when Jack actually does say something.

After a while though—Jack has taken a lot of photos—Eric starts feeling silly. He drops his smile because it feels fake, and then isn’t sure where he should look, and can’t think what he should be doing with his hands. He can’t remember what he’d done before, aside from covering his mouth when he couldn’t stop from laughing. He can’t keep his hands there all the time, though.

Eric, needing to do something, lifts his hand to brush his hair back. Perhaps unsurprisingly, it has been quite windy atop the Eiffel Tower, and his hair has moved around a lot since he brushed it into place this morning.

Jack drops his camera down, and stares at Eric.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Jack rushes to say. “I just got di—” He clears his throat. “Anyway, I’ve probably got enough.”

“Cool.” Eric walks back over to Jack. “Do I get to see the photos?”

Jack looks away from Eric, and busies himself with putting the lens cap back on the camera. “Of course. They’re really better on a computer, though. Besides, there are a lot. I should cull them a bit.”

Jack moves the camera back around so it’s at his back. It sounds like Jack is suggesting they meet up again. Eric’s stomach clenches hopefully.

“I don’t mind.” The more photos there are to look through, the longer Eric will be in Jack’s company. He doesn’t see that as a bad thing. “What are you doing tomorrow?” Eric asks, in a rare moment of straightforwardness.

“No concrete plans. More photos. Why? Did you want to look over the photos then?”

“Well, I’m planning on visiting the Musée de l'Orangerie, but maybe we can meet at the park beforehand?” Eric suggests.

“Okay,” Jack agrees easily. “It’s meant to be a nice day. Maybe I could take some more photos of you.”

Eric laughs, assuming Jack’s joking.

“Alright, well.” Jack pats his pockets, pulling out another business card. “I know I gave you one earlier, but I’ll just write down my phone number in case.” He writes on the back of the card and hands it to Eric.

“Thanks, Jack.” Eric pockets the second card, and makes a mental note to enter Jack’s details into his phone as soon as they split up this afternoon. He doesn’t want to lose it. “Does ten work?”

“Yeah. Sounds perfect.”

Eric watches as Jack disappears around the other side of the platform, camera out again. He steps into the queue for the lift to the base of the tower feeling light, and grinning without stopping.

-

Eric finishes off the last of a fresh croissant he bought from the boulangerie for his breakfast. Jack was right about the weather. It’s a gorgeous, sunny morning, and Eric’s sitting on the grass in the park beside the Musée de l'Orangerie with his legs stretched out in front of him.

He wrote an email home to his parents last night, and couldn’t bring himself to mention Jack at all. It feels too strange, and he knows they’ll express concern over his safety, yet here Eric is, quietly excited to see Jack again. He wants to know how the photos—his modelling debut—turned out. He also wants to see Jack’s eyes again, and his hair, see if it’s as floppy out of the wind as it was at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

Eric’s wiping his fingers on a napkin when someone clears their throat behind him. He jumps and turns round to look. He looks up up up and there’s Jack, wearing dark jeans and a plain grey shirt, camera across his chest.

“Bonjour,” Jack says, sitting himself cross-legged beside Eric.

“Bonjour,” Eric repeats, feeling a little foolish at his accent. He never did master it.

“I brought you a coffee. Hopefully it’s okay.”

Eric takes the cup Jack offers him, pleasantly surprised. “You didn’t have to.”

“I would’ve felt rude if I hadn’t.”

Eric laughs. “I can understand that. Southern hospitality has been ingrained in me since before I was walking.”

Jack smiles over at Eric. “Canadian pleasantry on my end.”

Eric takes a sip of his coffee. It’s not as sweet as he normally takes it, but he’s not about to tell that to Jack.

Jack opens up his backpack and pulls out a laptop. Eric shuffles in closer so he can see the screen. Jack either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind, because he stays in his place, entering a password and opening his documents folder. It’s nice being close to someone. Eric has been travelling Europe by himself for almost three weeks, and it’s lonely at times. He misses being able to touch someone, share with someone. He realised last night that he hasn’t hugged anyone since leaving his parents at the airport. He didn’t think that would matter so much to him.

“Alright,” Jack exclaims, moving the laptop so it’s more central. “There were almost a hundred photos in total,” Eric gasps, and Jack chuckles. “I wasn’t lying about you being photogenic. I’ve got just over twenty to show you.”

Jack opens up the first one. It’s one of the earlier photos from yesterday, the one where Eric is looking over his shoulder, surprised after hearing the camera shutter.

“Oh, wow.” The picture is really beautiful. Jack was right about the afternoon light—it’s practically glinting in Eric’s hair.

Jack clicks through to the next one, a more posed one with Eric smiling at the camera.

“I like the composition in this one, see, if I,” Jack brings up one of his hands to cover a third of the frame from one side. “Still works. And then from this way as well.” Jack moves his hand to cover the top of the picture.

Jack is obviously enthusiastic; passionate about photography as a skill, not just a hobby. Eric gets lost in some of the technicalities Jack starts pointing out as they work though the photos, but it’s nice enough just hearing English spoken at length. Jack has a pleasant voice. Eric thinks it could lull him to sleep in the right situation.

It feels a little narcissistic to think, but Eric has to admit that the photos are all good. Jack’s managed to capture something that goes far beyond a typical holiday snapshot.

“Would I be able to get copies of some of these?” Eric asks after they’ve looked through the twenty. “I’d love to print some out for my photo album.”

“For sure, that’s why I’m showing you them” Jack agrees easily. He opens up a word document and passes the laptop to Eric. “If you type your email in there I’ll send you some.”

The nervous side of Eric is tempted to put in his work email instead of his personal one, but he figures if something happens down the line he can just quarantine Jack’s email address, and no harm should come of it. He enters his personal email and passes back the laptop.

“So, Eric,” Jack begins after shutting down the laptop. “What are you plans for the day, besides the museum?”

“Beside the Monet’s, no plans for the afternoon.”

“Have you seen them before?”

Eric shakes his head and Jack’s eyes light up.

“You’re going to love them. They’re… so impressive. Amazing.”

Eric smiles at Jack. “Well good. And what are you doing?” he asks after a beat.

“Oh, well, I,” Jack lifts up his camera.

Eric laughs. “Of course. Should’ve guessed.”

There’s silence for a moment, a little awkward for how Eric and Jack don’t really know each other. It’s strange, Eric thinks, because if he’d met Jack back at home, he’d probably be halfway towards befriending him by now. Being away and by himself puts a different twist on relationships though. Whatever connections he makes are going to disappear quickly. It isn’t a great incentive toward building them, as much as Eric already has warmed to Jack.

Of course, there is another option. If not the slow-build of a friendship… then the all-in holiday fling, where you don’t need to know the nitty-gritty of a person to spend time with them, and when you part it’s on mutual ground, content in—or resigned to—the fact you won’t stay in touch.

Eric thinks about it as he sits, watching Jack start to take photos of people around the park, explaining what he’s doing to Eric as he works. Eric lets it fade to background noise.

Before leaving, Eric had spent a dinner out with some of his close friends from college, and inevitably as their conversation does—especially once onto the second bottle of wine—the topic of relationships and sex came up. Eric has always been on the side of wanting emotional investment, having only invited a man home on the night he met him once (they’d said goodbye without exchanging numbers the next morning). It wasn’t bad, but it was more like ticking something off a bucket-list than discovering something that Eric enjoyed. His friends though have encouraged him to look for opportunities in a similar vein while overseas. Eric had a lot of fun spinning imaginary stories with them that night. None of them came close to this reality. Not that it’s inevitable that Jack and Eric will end up having sex, a fling, whatever you want to categorise it as. Though Jack is very attractive.

Eric takes his eyes off Jack, realising he’s kept them there the entire time he’s been thinking, just vaguely following his hairline. It looks just as disarrayed as yesterday, but Jack’s attractiveness is beside the point. It’s only part of what Eric looks for in a person, and it’s not ever going to be the quality that makes or breaks his decision on pursuing relationships. Even if he did want something to happen with him and Jack—just the idea of it is making him flushed, like when Jack was taking his photo yesterday—he’d want to know Jack more first, deeper than a profession and country of origin. Either way, Eric thinks this is going to be one of those holiday stories that gets revisited year after year. ‘Remember Jack?’ his friends will ask, and Eric will smile and think back on how a handsome man asked to take his picture.

Eric finishes his now cool coffee, and looks over to Jack. Jack’s camera is pointing right at him. Eric’s stomach clenches in something like nerves, and maybe a little like arousal too.

He brings the coffee cup in front of his face. “Excuse me,” he draws out, teasingly.

Jack apologises but it’s with a smile, and he takes another photo before lowering his camera.

“Light’s good today too,” he explains.

Eric rolls his eyes, and tries to come off as cool and unaffected. Internally, he’s thinking ‘this is the moment’. The opening is right before him and temptation is running pretty high, what with Jack smiling at him with his gorgeous hair ruffled by the wind and enthusiasm on his face.

Eric swallows and imagines himself asking: _did you want to come with me?_ If he was more forward, perhaps adding: _maybe take some more photos?_

Eric’s an over-thinker in regards to these things though—asking Jack yesterday to meet with him today is outside the norm—which is why he doesn’t prefer one night stands, as much as he sometimes craves them in the moment. Too many variables, too many things the other person can be thinking while Eric is completely unaware, not knowing them well enough to judge.

The moment hovers, with Jack looking at Eric and Eric looking at Jack. Eric opens his mouth before having decided what to say, and nothing comes out. Making decisions is not his forte. His parents practically forced him into this trip with repeated encouragement and a promise to pay for his flights. Choosing whether to ask Jack to stay with him is just… too much effort, perhaps. Or maybe just too big of a decision with not enough time to think things through. Also, Eric worries if he asks and Jack says no he’s going to spend the day glum, even when he shouldn’t care that someone he met less than twenty-four hours ago has their own life to live.

Eric is driving himself insane, going around and around thinking about what could be with Jack. He tracks his eyes over Jack’s face one last time before sighing and standing up, putting his bag strap back over across his torso, and picking up his coffee cup to throw away.

“I think I’m going to head off now,” Eric starts to extricate himself from the situation.

Jack’s smile drops a little, but he stands up readily enough, making Eric crane his neck when his body ends up pretty close to Eric’s. Jack shoves his hands in his pocket and steps back with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, of course. I’ll get those photos to you.”

“That’d be good. It was real nice catching up with you again, though,” Eric adds, perhaps too earnestly.

“Likewise.”

Jack holds out his hand and Eric takes it. Instead of shaking it like Eric was expecting, Jack pulls him in gently, and kisses him once on both cheeks. Eric blinks rapidly and feels his face heating.

“See you around,” Jack says with confidence, putting his hand back in his pocket after running it through his hair.

Eric nods, biting his bottom lip, and walks off to the museum. He looks back over his shoulder once and Jack is watching him still. He lifts a hand in a wave, and Eric waves back, turning and walking backwards for a few paces. This might be the last image of Jack he has. It’s a good one, Jack relaxed and glowing in the sun, a small smile on his face.

-

The museum is surprisingly quiet as Eric makes his way through it. There aren’t many people, and those there are content to enjoy without commentary, not like the constant noise Eric has come to expect with Paris’ tourist destinations—the Eiffel Tower yesterday, and the Pompidou Museum the day before.

If he’s honest, he was almost hoping for the hubbub of noise to break through his cyclic thoughts about Jack, and what could have been if he’d been braver. He’d said to himself before coming he would be more outgoing on this trip. He hasn’t been so far.

It’s funny, Eric’s always been a go-getter, but come relationships he’s suddenly passive. Externally, at least. Internally, he’s worrying, and daydreaming, and imagining, and it gets so that sometimes he thinks he hinders himself, building up fantastic relationships with his crushes inside his head, so fantastic that he doesn’t think the real thing could compete, so why bother.

He can admit to himself that it’s an avoidance tactic. He craves a loving relationship, so he’s too fearful to try in case it fails. It took a while before Eric accepted that though. In high school in particular, and early at college, Eric got more pleasure from imagining than from actual relationships he was in. Thankfully the tide changed eventually, but he still has times where the fantasy appeases him enough that he just doesn’t bother chasing the reality. Maybe that’s all he needs with Jack, to just sit here and stare at a Monet painting and think about what a day or two together with him might have looked like. Walking around the city sightseeing, people-watching at cafes, Jack taking more photos.

Eric gives into his thoughts and lets them drift, and several minutes pass with him staring at the one canvas without really taking it in. Eventually he does try and clear his mind and focus on the art. Jack was right about the paintings. They are very impressive. Eric never imagined they would be so big, filling the entire room with its specially curved walls.

Eric moves into the next room and sits himself on an empty chair, facing the wall where Monet’s water lilies stretch all the way outside his peripherals. It’s calming. Peaceful.

Sitting there, Eric feels loneliness coming over him again, and he crosses his arms over his stomach in some semblance of comfort. He read before he came that it’s the pattern of threes for homesickness. Three weeks, three months. It’s somewhat comforting to know he’s not the only person who has felt this way when travelling alone. Still, it would be nice to have someone to share this with, to talk about the paintings with, or just sit beside in silence. He’s only managing to talk on Skype with family or college friends about once a week because of difficulties with internet. It’s not really enough to sustain him. Speaking with Jack has made him realise that.

Maybe that’s the reason Eric was so relieved to find Jack yesterday, and excited to see him again today. He was just ready for a connection. Jack seems so nice too, the kind of person who would fit in easily with Eric’s college crowd. Serious about his passion, learned, sharply funny in a blunt way. He’s also the kind of person Eric wouldn’t mind getting to know in a more intense way either. Learning the little things, like what he looks like in the morning, and how he takes his tea.

It's ridiculous to think of. Eric wonders how much the fact Jack speaks English factors into his sudden, intense emotions. Meeting Jack has somehow stirred Eric up more than anything else since leaving America for Europe. He’s content to play tourist, ticking off sites from his list, taking photos to prove it, learning more about himself like everyone kept telling him he would before he left. All he’s learnt so far is that being in a different city hasn’t changed the core of who he is, and that he really misses being surrounded by people he knows.

Eric stares at the Monet painting—soft colours that meld into one another, swathes of paint a mess up close and once you step back becoming clear and beautiful—and thinks that he needs to do the same. One brush stroke is Jack, one is Eric, one is Paris, another is home. If Eric steps back, what does he want the picture to look like?

Perhaps it’s because he’s thinking so much of Jack, but the sound of a camera shutter clicks loudly through the open space. Eric blinks, and turns to see who’s making the sound. When he does, he can’t help rolling his eyes. Jack lifts a hand off his camera and waves sheepishly to Eric. Eric shakes his head, but really, he’s jittery on the inside, heart rabbiting away to have the very man who has occupied the last several minutes of his thoughts sneak up on him.

After pressing the back of his hand to his cheek trying to sense whether he’s blushing, he stands and walks to Jack.

“What are you doing here?” He whispers, leaning in so as not to disturb the others in the museum.

“Stalking you,” Jack says in a monotone.

Eric cocks his head, fairly certain that’s a lie. “You let me notice you. Stalking normally involves an amount of stealth.”

Jack’s face breaks into a smile. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to take more photos of you today.”

“So, you _are_ stalking me,” Eric teases, recalling Jack’s preference for candid shots.

“I said so, didn’t I?” Jack teases right back, still smiling down at Eric, so charming that, though he wasn’t before, Eric is convinced he must be blushing now. Hopefully, the slight tan he’s picked up since being here covers it.

Eric shoves his shoulder lightly into Jack. “You could have just asked.”

“I didn’t want you to say no.” Eric blinks. That was his exact same fear earlier—the thing that stopped him from asking Jack into the museum with him. Yet here they are. Maybe it’s fate. Maybe Jack feels the same loneliness as he does and just wants a day of easy company. Eric can’t judge him for it, but he hopes he didn’t misread the hint of vulnerability in Jack’s eyes when he spoke, that speaks to it being a little more than just a casual statement.

Without saying anything, he heads back over to the bench he was sitting on, crossing his ankles out in front of him. Jack follows him. Eric looks away to hide his relieved smile.

Eric stares at the painting in front of him again. Now that Jack’s here it’s less relaxing than before. Eric is aware of him in a multitude of ways. The camera that he likes pointing in Eric’s direction, where the top of Eric’s head lines up with Jack’s cheekbones, Jack’s thigh spreading heat from where it rests only an inch away.

“Yes,” Eric says, still looking at the painting.

He can feel, more than see, Jack turn to him. The cushion of the seat depressing slightly at his side.

“Sorry?”

“You didn’t want me to say no.” Eric turns to Jack. He’s nervous as he says it, knowing that this could be the decision that turns their casual encounter into something more. That’s Eric’s hope, he’s decided. He has no idea whether Jack is interested in him in the same way, but he’s fascinated by Jack.  He put his brushstrokes together and stepped back. He knows what he wants. He wants Jack, even just for today. “I’m saying yes.”

The smile Jack sends Eric’s way at that, and the slight relaxing of his shoulders, is one big positive sign to Eric.

-

Jack surprises Eric by not taking any more photos at the museum. Eric isn’t sure what that means—a sign Jack wants to move beyond the professional side of their encounter maybe, but that could be wishful thinking on Eric’s part. Eric asks him about it.

“They didn’t commission me to take photos of this museum,” Jack tells him as they’re leaving. “I have my personal camera with me, though. I could’ve taken some with that.”

Eric sees a flaw in Jack’s explanation. “You took a photo of me when you came in though. I heard it.”

Jack opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He ducks his head and fiddles with the lens cap on one of his cameras.

“I did,” Jack starts slowly.

Eric keeps walking them nowhere in particular, trying to stick in the patches of shade provided by the lines of trees.

Jack sighs out, glancing at Eric then away. “I think I got too nervous to interrupt you. You looked pretty deep in thought.”

He was, and thank goodness Jack couldn’t tell what he was thinking about.

“I thought I’d take an obvious photo, and if you noticed me, good, and if you didn’t… I don’t know. Maybe I’d take another until you did.”

Eric is at once enamoured and horrified. “You know, I would not have guessed it at all from what I’ve seen of you so far, but you’re a little bit hopeless.”

Jack laughs, short and surprised. He looks over to Eric, eyebrows raised a little. “I one hundred percent am, yes.”

“You could have just come and said hello,” Eric chastises playfully.

“I could have, yes,” Jack repeats, grinning.

Eric shakes his head, amused by this new revelation into Jack’s character. “I cannot believe it. You were so confident yesterday. And this morning,” Eric adds, thinking back to the coffees Jack brought, and the calm way he asked for Eric’s email.

“Not really,” Jack refutes. “I think I just had my work persona on. I could happily talk about photography and all that for hours, but anything outside of that sphere of my life, and…”

Jack trails off. He’s got a downwards twist to his mouth that implies his thoughts have darkened. Jack seems to shakes himself out of it quickly though, and he turns to Eric, frown replaced with a mocking smile. “My friends call it the ‘Zimmermann charm’.”

Eric laughs, happy Jack has people out there who like him in all the ways he comes. Eric’s liked all of Jack’s sides so far too.

“I think they actually got the term from my father.”

Eric laughs again. “I’m not sure if that makes the story funnier, or sadder.”

“Hey.” Jack walks purposefully into him, and Eric stumbles a little on the pathway. “You saying I have a sad life?”

Eric walks back into Jack in retaliation, but Jack sees him coming and steels himself. All that ends up happening is that Eric pushes his body into Jack’s for a few paces, before he gives up after noticing how hardly corded with muscle Jack seems to be.

Eric straightens up and clears his throat before speaking. “Not at all. It’s nice that your family and friends can tease you about that stuff. It’s a good mark of closeness.”

“Me too,” Jack agrees.

Eric looks up to Jack and feels that they’re both remembering the teasing they’ve done with each other. They walk without direction for a bit. At least, Eric assumes it’s without direction until Jack pulls him back from crossing the street and turns him instead around the corner.

“Where are you taking us?” Eric asks. Nothing about the street they’ve turned down seems notable. It’s more suburban than others he’s seen in Paris—tall apartment buildings on both sides with no breaks for parks or cafes.

“One of my favourite spots in Paris. I think you’ll like it.” Jack’s face shows clear enthusiasm, and Eric feels touched that Jack’s showing him whatever it is. Something special to Jack that he’s bothering to take Eric to. Eric imagines it would be like him sharing his family recipes with Jack, side-by-side in a kitchen. It’s a nice image, and makes Eric’s stomach somersault.

“I feel very flattered,” Eric tells Jack. “What is it?”

Jack stops walking and gestures Eric in close. He leans down and cups a hand around Eric’s ear. “It’s a surprise,” Jack whispers.

Eric shivers and shoves Jack away to try and hide his reaction. He walks onwards, leaving Jack to do a half jog and catch up.

“I would tell you, but I want to see your face when we go in.”

“Alright,” Eric concedes, starting to feel nervous at letting Jack down if his reaction isn’t on par with what Jack is expecting. He hopes it’s something nice and not something he’ll have to fake enthusiasm for.

“Is it far?”

“The next block.”

They walk on in silence. Eric sees Jack reach for his camera at one point, but his hand stalls and drops before he completes the action. After crossing to the next block, Jack steers Eric with a hand on his shoulder into the corner building.

A bell above the door jingles as they walk in. Eric looks around at the space. It looks like a mess. There’s hanging plants all around the room, and small bookshelves that don’t seem to be in any particular order. It smells amazing though, and Eric closes his eyes to breathe in deeply. Butter, sugar, cinnamon, coffee.

Eric turns around to Jack. “What on earth is this place?”

“Can’t you tell?” Jack teases. “It’s a boulangerie.”

“It is not.” Eric turns around again. “Where’s all the food, then?”

Jack gestures with his head, and leads them past a few of the bookshelves, eventually stopping at one that holds not books, but pastries. Croissants, and tarts, and petits fours, and a few things Eric can only remember the English names for.

“It’s also a library,” Jack adds eventually.

“How did you even find this place?” The atmosphere is growing on Eric. It’s not messy so much as homey, and there’s soft piano music playing from somewhere that reminds him of dinners with his grandma.

“Camilla found it, actually.”

“Camilla?” Eric asks absentmindedly, looking around for other bookshelves that aren’t bookshelves.

“She’s an ex of mine.”

Eric locks up. The pronoun is not lost on him. In fact, it’s like Jack’s dropped an anvil on his gut with one word. She.

Eric has to close his eyes for a moment, sighing internally and beginning to berate himself for another foolish and unrequited crush. It seems like an inevitability that after having decided just that morning he was interested in pursuing something with Jack he turns out to be straight.

“I’m going to look around,” Eric says without looking at Jack, hoping he won’t be followed in case his face shows how shaky he feels right now.

He walks with his head down, aiming for the only two taller bookshelves behind which he can hide. It’s horrible and he can’t stop it, but his mind is immediately second-guessing Jack’s intentions for bringing him here. Was it just so he could bring Camilla into the conversation? Has Eric been so obvious in his changed intentions toward Jack that Jack felt he needed to warn him off?

Eric sighs out shakily and leans his forehead against the bookshelf. He’s frustrated for wasting energy obsessing over the issue this morning at the gallery. It seems his heart will have to settle for a temporary friendship after all.

Eric had exhausted himself already thinking about this and now it’s worse. The past few minutes have taken him sky high and rock bottom. He wants to go home. He wants to lie down and possibly cry.

But… _Jack_. Eric turns over, leaning his back against the bookshelf so he can wipe at his eyes. He’s being dramatic. He’s overthinking, slipping back into old habits. He tries to take a step back, picture his Monet, because he knows that at the heart of everything, regardless of Jack’s feeling towards him, he does want to spend time with Jack. He’s been really enjoying doing so, and after this he’s back at home, back to work, and back to people he knows. He’d decided coming into this trip to be more outgoing. Here’s his opportunity for courage.

He comes out from between the shelves and sees Jack talking with an old man. Eric assumes he’s the owner. Jack and he are in the middle of a conversation in French, so Eric does what he said he would and takes a look around the store. The hanging plants, he discovers, are cooking ingredients. Basil, rosemary, and several other herbs. The books on the shelves are all in languages other than English, although Eric is certain they’re not all French. It amuses him to know that what they say about the French and the English still rings true. He picks one up for something to do. The back of the book has an old-fashioned stamp-style record of the borrowers. It’s charming, and Eric would find it so on an ordinary day, but as he looks over to Jack—still talking to the man—he starts picturing a woman beside him. Tall and beautiful, and as interested in photography as Jack is.

He closes the book with a snap, breaking his own thoughts and also grabbing the attention of Jack and the man. Jack smiles at Eric, and he tries to shoot one back, but it doesn’t hold very long. He turns to put the book on the shelf, hoping that Jack doesn’t think anything is amiss. Maybe he _should_ go home.

Jack comes over to him then. “Onwards?”

Eric nods and Jack goes to open the door for them both, bell jingling not as bright as before to Eric’s ears. Jack leads and Eric follows beside him. Silence again. Jack and Camilla would have walked this exact same street.

“Oh, shit.” Jack stops abruptly on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets. “I think I left my—Do you mind if I run back and get it?” he asks already walking backwards toward the store.

“Oh. Go. Of course,” Eric says a little rigidly, pulled abruptly from his gloomy thoughts.

Jack turns and jogs into the place, leaving Eric confused on the sidewalk. When he comes back out, he has two paper bags in his hand.

“You didn’t have those before,” Eric points out with narrowed eyes.

Jack hands one to him, and Eric takes it, peeking inside to see two pastries.

“They’re for you,” Jack explains needlessly.

“You didn’t have to,” Eric says automatically. He doesn’t know what Jack is playing at, buying him coffees and pastries that Eric didn’t ask for. It seems—seemed—like some kind of courting, but now he knows about Camilla, so it must be that Jack is simply generous and a nice person. Buying Eric a pastry wouldn’t be notable to him, wouldn’t register as flirting or crossing a line. If they were friends and had known each other for longer than a day, Eric would have passed off this kind of thing as normal. They’re not though, and they haven’t. Even knowing about Camilla, Eric can’t get over the fact that spending frivolous money on someone you’ve just met is a very particular message.

When Eric looks up from his pastries, Jack is watching him with concern on his face.

“You…” He looks down the street for a beat, and then back to Eric. “I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but you looked, uh, sad. I wanted to do something.”

Eric’s stomach flips without warning, and he hums.

“Jack,” Eric begins, but then doesn’t know what to say, because he doesn’t know what Jack means by it. What he really wants to ask is just that—what _does_ he mean—but it stays as words in his head for the moment.

“Thank you,” he settles on eventually, tearing a chunk from one of the pastries.

Jack’s expression eases somewhat, but Eric can tell he’s still concerned.

-

It’s late afternoon by the time Jack’s walked them back to where they started that day. Eric’s been trying to forget all about Jack’s mixed messages and just enjoy the time with him. It’s harder said than done, and he’s sure Jack picked up on his mood.

Eric is actually relieved when Jack and he part ways. All the way back to his apartment, he replays little things over and over in his head, trying to figure out Jack’s intentions. He can’t make sense of it all, and he tries to distract himself with his nightly ritual of checking his email and Facebook.

He posts a short entry about his day with some photos, leaving out any mention of Jack. It’s half because he’s still wary of what his parents might think about it, but half because he wants to keep Jack to himself—a bit of a ‘what happens in Paris, stays in Paris’—and while he’s so confused about what the nature of their relationships is becoming, he thinks it’s best to keep clear of mentioning it.

His parents have sent a reply to yesterday’s email, telling him how jealous they are (they do that every email), and putting in some stories from back home—mama and her book club meeting, and coach and his team’s win at the football match. Midway through writing his reply—in which he recaps his Facebook post but makes sure to add to the tally of French pastries he’s been sampling for his mother—Eric gets a new email. The email goes straight into his spam folder so he doesn’t notice it until he’s almost logging off for the night, having been successfully distracted from Jack.

In among emails from magazines he no longer reads, pornbots, and promotional ads, there is an email from “jack_lz”. It’s got attachments, which always makes Eric nervous about even opening the email in the first place, but it says Jack, and Jack did say he was going to email.

Eric takes out the business card Jack gave him yesterday. The address on the card is jack.zimmermann@essentialmedia.com.

Eric frowns, opening the email. It definitely seems legitimate, even though the address doesn’t match.

_From: jack_lz@gmail.com_

_To: eric_r_bittle@gmail.com_

_Subject: Photos from the Eiffel Tower._

_Hey Eric,_

_This is Jack Zimmermann (the charming Canadian photographer you asked to take your picture at the top of the Eiffel Tower)._

_I’ve attached the photos you looked over with me today. I had to compress them down so they’d fit, so you may need to download something to help open them properly. Let me know if you need help with that._

_Did you want me to send any of the photos I took today? There are a lot more. It may be easier to do a physical transfer._

_Thanks,_

_Jack_

Eric has had bad experiences with computer viruses before, so before he opens the attachments—which at this stage he’s ninety percent sure won’t do any harm—he gets out his phone, and copies the pencilled number from Jack’s business card into it carefully.

He drafts a text, then rewrites it a couple of times before sending.

 **Me** : Hey Jack. This is Eric Bittle. I got an email from “jack_lz”. Is that you? I just wanted to make sure, because it wasn’t the account on your business card. Thanks.

Jack’s reply comes in quickly, before Eric’s let go of his phone.

 **Jack** : Hi Eric. Yes, that’s my personal account. I thought it would be better. Work can check in on that other email.

Eric raises his eyebrow at the text, sending his own reply quickly as well.

 **Me** : Should you not be sending me the photos? If you’re going to get in trouble, I don’t want you to feel like you have to.

 **Jack** : No. It’s all good. Just better to be safe than sorry. Besides…

Eric waits, biting his lip for a follow up text. He doesn’t know why it’s taking Jack so long when his other texts have been near-instantaneous. He could have gotten distracted, or maybe he’s having second thoughts about saying something.

 **Jack** : I wanted you to have my personal email.

Eric bites his lip. It sounds like a line. Was it intentional though? Even if it was, did Jack mean it in the way Eric’s reading it—that Jack is interested in him—or is this just about Jack not wanting to get caught out on his work email?

Eric shakes his head. He needs to write something in response.

 **Eric** : Well now I do.

It’s bland, but better than typing ‘WHY?’ likes he wants to.

He puts his phone face down on the desk and goes back to the email, moving it into his regular inbox and adding Jack to his contacts. His phone buzzes, and he flips it over to see a new text from Jack. He’s obviously not in the middle of anything with how quickly they’re coming in.

 **Jack** : Can you open the pictures alright?

 **Eric** : Just trying now.

Eric opens the attachment fine. The folder has the twenty pictures Jack had showed him today. They’re compressed, but he’s used to dealing with large files at work and gets them open no problem. He quickly looks through some of them again.

Eric sends Jack a text to let him know he got them all fine and to thank him again.

 **Jack** : You’re more than welcome. It was my pleasure.

 **Jack** : Did you want photos from today?

 **Eric** : I’d love them, if you’re willing.

 **Jack** : I’m going to call.

The next second, Eric’s phone is buzzing in his hand, and he swipes to answer.

“Jack?”

“Yeah. Hi, Eric.” Jack’s voice sounds bright over the phone.

“Hi,” Eric says slowly. “Why the call?”

“I want to organise some time to meet tomorrow to give you the photos. I thought it’d be easier over the phone.”

“Alright,” Eric says, looking around the room wildly at Jack’s unexpected offer. “I haven’t got any plans yet, so whatever works best for you. I know you’re technically here for work.”

“Thanks. I am.” Eric guesses Jack is in the kitchen from the background noise in the call. A kettle, and the clink of mugs. “There’s this park I need to go to, actually. Jardin du Luxembourg. Do you know of it?”

“Uh, no. I don’t think so.” Eric googles it as he’s sitting in front of his computer. He’s sure he mangles the French, but it comes up anyway.

“I’ll send you directions in an email. It’s a pretty huge park, so, hard to miss.” Jack must have moved into a different room, because Eric can hear the sound of something on television in the background.

“I’m looking it up now, actually.” Eric opens the top link, and sees images of a gigantic water fountain in which model sailboats are being raced by children. “I should be fine.”

“Smart. I was thinking we should meet at the big fountain in the centre.”

“Sounds easy enough.” Eric writes ‘big fountain’ down on a note, along with the address and name of the park. “What time are we meeting?”

“Same as today? Ten?”

“Sounds fine.” Eric adds it to the note. “Should I bring anything with me?”

“Do you have an external hard drive on you? Or a USB with lots of memory?”

“Both actually.”

Jack hums, and Eric waits before adding anything to his notes. “Go for the hard drive.”

Eric writes it down. “Anything else?”

“Well, I was thinking we could, uh… Well, if you wanted, since you don’t have plans… we could spend the day together?”

Eric smiles and presses his mouth against his knuckles. Camilla or no, Jack’s words send butterflies into Eric’s stomach. “I’d like that, Jack.”

Jack sighs out. “Great. Cool. Okay.”

Eric laughs under his breath. Jack really wasn’t lying about his social awkwardness the other day.

“So, bring layers then, probably, and your metro pass. Water, snacks, some-” Jack cuts himself off. “God, I sound like my maman,” he says with distress.

Eric laughs audibly this time. “I’m adding that all to my list anyway.”

“You’ve got a list?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, just… me too.”

Eric smiles. “Great minds.”

When Eric hangs up the phone, he’s still lost as to what Jack wants out of this. He feels hopeful though. His strange moodiness from today obviously hasn’t scared Jack away, and now they’re meeting again tomorrow. Eric hopes he won’t get blindsided by any other revelations from Jack, and he can go back to enjoying himself, and the easy way he feels when he’s talking with Jack.

-

Eric waits beside the fountain for Jack. He’s feeling a lot more nervous than he was yesterday in the garden. Somehow, after last night, and with this being the second planned meeting they’re having, this relationship between Eric and Jack is becoming something much more solid.

Eric is getting invested. In Jack, and his altruistic kindness, his passion, his gorgeous face. If Eric was trying not to encourage anything earlier—and honestly, he’s not sure he was—then today, Eric doesn’t feel like doing that at all. He’s young, in Paris, and talking with a good-looking man who has an obvious interest. The only doubtful area is whether that interest is purely professional, or whether Jack is interested in something else, not to mention the Camilla revelation from yesterday. As his mother often says though, you’ll never know if you never try.

Eric checks the time on his phone. Five minutes until Jack’s supposed to get here. Eric hadn’t planned on being early himself, but he woke up before his alarm, excited. He’s still excited, but as he waits, a bit of anxiety creeps up on him despite the warm weather and the sun shining down.

He sends a text to Jack, letting him know he’s at the fountain, then he resumes his turn, turn, turn, doing a 360 as he keeps an eye out for Jack, hoping his height will mean Eric catches him before he’s right in front of him—or behind him, as the case was yesterday.

Eric spots Jack stuck behind two older women. He smiles happily, and starts over toward Jack. The women give him a look and he debates gesturing behind them, to show he’s not actually walking up to them, but decides not to bother.

Jack stops when he notices Eric. A gorgeous, relaxed smile settles on his face, and he lifts a hand not to wave, as Eric was expecting, but with his camera, which was hidden by the ladies earlier.

Eric holds his smile for a second, before dropping it to roll his eyes at Jack. Jack laughs and finishes walking over to him.

“Hey, Eric.”

“Hi, Jack. Getting in early with the photos today.”

Jack shrugs. “Perhaps. But there’s no time frame for photography.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll remember that. I’m sure it’ll come back to bite you sometime.”

Eric revels in the easy banter they have right off the bat. With his new mentality for the day, he takes it as a hopeful sign that Jack’s as interested in pursuing something as Eric is.

“You found the place alright, then?” Jack asks, perhaps unnecessarily.

“Oh, yeah. Your directions were really good.” Jack had decided to send them to Eric after all.

Jack nods. “Have you had breakfast yet?”

“Just some yoghurt. I totally forgot I needed to buy groceries yesterday.”

“Good. I need food too, let’s go find a crepe stand.”

Jack starts leading him and Eric away from the fountain.

“That’d be nice. I haven’t had one yet,” Eric admits to Jack.

“What?” Jack half shouts. “How can you not have had one yet? I think I get one every day.”

“It’s silly, really,” Eric starts. “I just, like… what if it’s not good? If it doesn’t live up to my expectations?”

Jack hums beside him, thankfully listening to Eric’s worries.

“I get it,” Jack says, before adding, “kind of,” a second later, then, “not really.”

Eric ducks his head. “Silly. Like I said.”

“Well, no,” Jack encourages. “That’s always a part of travelling, and not just in relation to food either. Particularly somewhere like this. So many iconic landmarks, artworks, gardens…”

Jack trails off, slowing down his steps somewhat, but still moving toward a crepe stand that Eric can see halfway down the path.

“The one thing about Paris I remember being let down about was the Mona Lisa. Have you been yet?”

Eric shakes his head. He was hoping to do the Louvre tomorrow, on his last day. He’s heard about just how massive the place is, and worried if he went early, he’d keep going back until he’d seen everything, totally missing any other part of Paris.

“Well, it’s this incredibly famous painting—”

“I know,” Eric interrupts, hoping Jack doesn’t think that lowly of his artistic awareness. Just because he’s not a photographer doesn’t mean he doesn’t like art.

Jack laughs though, and smiles down at Eric. “I know you know. I’m just setting the scene.”

“Oh. Go on then.”

“So, the most famous painting in the world,” Jack lays his words with dramatic flair, using some ambiguous hand gesture that Eric thinks is supposed to be painting on a canvas. “I get there, and the room is totally packed with people. So crowded I’ve no idea which wall the Mona Lisa is on. Thankfully, I’m taller than a lot of the people there, so I just push into the crowd a little and then… I see her.

“Well, I think I see her. The thing is, Eric, she’s tiny. Did you know that about her?” Eric shakes his head. “I think if I stretched both my hands out, one beside the other, I’d cover the width of the painting.”

“Wow,” Eric says, watching as Jack demonstrates how far his long fingers can extend. “I didn’t realise.”

“Plus, they’ve got this rope barrier set up around the painting, so you can’t get closer than a few metres. Actually,” Jack pauses, “that may be why she seems so small.”

They’re almost at the crepe stand now. As they join onto the small queue, Eric wonders whether the point of Jack’s story and the dramatic delivery was less about Jack telling a story, and more about Jack trying to get Eric over his reluctance to try a crepe.

“What flavour do you want?” Jack asks.

“I don’t know what they are. Surprise me?” Eric asks, feeling a little like a teenager trying alcohol for the first time. Not knowing what’s good, bad, cool, or available.

Jack’s mouth lifts up on the right side and he nods at Eric. “Got it.”

At the stand, Jack orders in French. He hadn’t heard it from this close when he was speaking to the man from the boulangerie yesterday. He’d assumed Jack just had basic tourist French, but from the pace of his speech and the confidence on his face, Eric thinks Jack must be a fluent speaker.

He continues to chat with the server while their crepes are being made, and Eric simply stands and listens to the words like they’re music. When it’s not in English, the cadence of Jack’s voice makes Eric think he’d be a decent singer.

Jack thanks the man at the stand—that much Eric can parse out—then walks them to somewhere to sit.

“I’ve been trying to figure out ever since you told me you’re from Canada, why I couldn’t pick the accent in the first place.” Jack laughs at Eric’s confession. “It’s the French. I can hear it in some of your words. Did you used to live here?”

Jack, still chewing his first bite, shakes his head. “I’ve never lived here,” he says after swallowing, “but my mother worked here for years. Still comes back occasionally.”

“She taught you to speak French?”

“Oui,” Jack says, a little cheekily. “I’ve always been bi-lingual.”

“I’d love to have been taught a second language from a young age,” Eric admits wistfully. “I took some language classes in college, but, I don’t know, I really struggled to get anything to stick.”

“It definitely helps to start younger, and I could practise every day with my parents. It’s never too late to learn though. I could teach you some French if you want?”

The offer is earnest, but it comes with the price-tag of reminding Eric that he is only going to have today and _maybe_ tomorrow to learn from Jack, and no one to practise with once he goes back.

“Uh, rain-check?” he offers instead. He doesn’t want to think about leaving Jack yet.

“Sure. Now, quit stalling.” Jack wraps his hand around Eric’s on the crepe he’d bought, and moves it up to Eric’s mouth before letting go. “Take a bite.”

The crepe smells amazing and is delightfully warm, but not as warm as Jack’s hand over his. Eric can never get his crepes this thin at home. He looks to Jack as he takes a small bite, chewing slowly to try and figure out what’s inside. He thinks he’s got it after one bite, but he takes another to be sure.

“I was expecting chocolate, but this tastes like sugar and… cinnamon.”

Jack smiles and nods at him. “You’ve got good tastebuds.”

“Thanks,” Eric accepts the compliment, seeing as it’s well founded. “I’m a baker by trade, so I should have.”

“No way. Really?” Jack asks.

“Yeah,” Eric nods, taking another bite of his crepe. He’s already regretting waiting for his last full day to try one. “Recipe development for a food magazine more accurately, but ‘baker’ is easier to say.”

“I wish I could bake,” Jack says with longing. “My mom can’t do much beyond basics, and dad’s not big on sweets.”

“Well, maybe we could do a trade. You teach me French, I teach you baking.” Eric offers it, knowing it will never eventuate. He’s leaving tomorrow, and Jack’s staying, and aside from that, they live in different countries. Neighbouring countries, sure, but still far enough away it’s long-distance.

Two and a half days. It may be enough to feel something, to want more, but Eric fears it isn’t enough to create something lasting with those feelings, no matter how strong they are on his end. Eric hasn’t been this immediately attracted to anyone in a long time. Not since he went off to college, newly out and high on the freedom of choosing who he wanted to be dating. Since then nothing has really stuck. Eric secretly thinks romance has lost its romance, with online dating and tinder hook-ups. Not that he’s against it, but he’s always hoped for something a little more... well, a little more like how he and Jack met. Real. Unexpected. Being in the so-called ‘city of love’ isn’t so bad for the story either.

Eric finishes off his crepe far before Jack is done.

“I guess there’s no real polite way of eating that.” Eric nods at Jack’s hands, which are holding the ends of his crepe, out of which thick lines of Nutella have worked their way over his fingers.

Jack shakes his head, before shoving the remainder of his crepe into his mouth. He holds his messy hands out with a look, and Eric pulls a disgusted face at him. If the situation were reversed, no way would Eric want to be seen like that in front of someone he’s trying to impress. Jack doesn’t seem to have a care about that. It’s nice.

Jack swallows, and then says, “Should’ve thought to get some napkins.”

“I’ve got some tissues, I think.” Eric looks in the side pocket of his bag for his travel pack.

“Don’t bother. I’ve got it.”

Jack’s solution is to lick the Nutella off from his fingers. It’s not meant to be a seductive gesture, but as Jack locks eyes with Eric while he’s doing it, Eric can’t help the way his stomach flips over. He licks his lips, and Jack notices, eyebrows raising slightly.

Eric heats, and looks away quickly, but all Jack says is, “I’ll get you a chocolate one next time. See if you do any better.”

-

“It’s getting late,” Jack points out, dropping the camera and staring at where the sun is disappearing behind buildings.

They’ve spent the afternoon wandering aimlessly up and down the Champs-Élysées so Jack can take some photos for his book. They’ve ducked into and out of stores that made Eric gasp at the price-tags, and they’ve sat in a café drinking tiny coffees at a tiny table where their knees knocked together and they had to lean in close to hear each other speak over the noise of people around them. Eric paid to make up for the crepe but Jack managed to sneakily grab pastries for them again, to eat as they walked up toward to Egyptian Obelisk.

“I guess it is,” Eric agrees reluctantly. Their goodbye is coming up and he doesn’t care for it at all. He looks back down the tree-lined street toward the Arc de Triomphe. They’d gone up to the top of that as well today. Jack had visited earlier in his trip, but Eric remarked that he hadn’t and Jack had insisted and then proceeded to take photos of Eric that he could take home and show his parents.

“Dinner,” Eric blurts out.

“Pardon?” Jack turns to him.

Eric swallows. He hadn’t meant to say it, really, but his emotions got the better of him.

“Do you want to get dinner with me?”

Eric hopes that Jack will say yes. Dinner can only delay the inevitable so long, but it’s better than nothing. He’s fallen, and he wants as much time as he can get before they say goodbye.

Running into Jack two days ago felt like an inevitability. He’d been in Europe for weeks already, and Paris for days before they met, yet it wasn’t until he spoke to Jack and spent time with him that his eyes have really been opened to what was in front of him. He’s gotten lost in the feeling of freedom and romance he’s found wandering windy streets with Jack, and he can’t give it up.

“Please say yes,” he tells Jack, laying out his hopes bare in the fading light.

Jack swallows obviously and looks to Eric for a long time, so long that Eric’s eyes start to water from holding them open.

“Yes,” Jack whispers, and Eric shoulders slump in relief. Thank god.

“Where should we go?” Eric asks. “You’re the more experienced traveller.”

Jack nods in concession. “Well… you did promise me you’d teach me how to cook.”

Eric blinks. “I did.”

“So…” Jack trails off, looking hopefully at Eric.

“You want to come over?” Eric offers, assuming Jack was leading them there.

Jack beams at him. “I’d love to.”

Eric nods, feeling happy until he remembers something. “Oh, wait. I don’t have a proper kitchen. Or ingredients.”

“I do,” Jack responds immediately. “Come over to mine.” It’s not a question so much as a request.

Jack wants Eric to come over to where he’s staying. It’s more than Eric hoped, though not more than he dreamed. In the air between them, Eric can almost taste the electricity.

“Okay. Let’s go,” Eric says lowly.

The walk to the metro is silent. Eric’s hand catches Jack’s accidentally at one point, sending a tingle right up his arm. He wants this evening to head in the direction it seems to be heading, but there’s doubts in his mind still.

Jack is staying in the upper level of a townhouse that’s at least twice the size of Eric’s small, pokey apartment.

“Nice place,” Eric says, his first words since the train.

“The company owns it, and the one downstairs. If it was just me, I couldn’t get something this nice.”

The entranceway is short, but lined with framed photographs from the area. Eric can see Jack’s name on the bottom of one. A door to the right reveals a lounge room, with couches and a television, the door opposite is a combined kitchen and dining room which Jack has gone into ahead of Eric. It’s nothing like his industrial sized and outfitted work kitchen, but it’s impressive for a home set-up.

“Pantry is stocked,” Jack explains, opening it.

Eric comes beside him, trailing his eyes over the contents, trying to pick out something simple to teach Jack to cook.

“How much experience do you have?” He reaches up for a can of kidney beans to try and read the best before date. Jack beats him to it, stepping in close to Eric to reach up above him. His body is solid, warm against Eric’s back, and Eric can’t help but suck in a breath.

“Here,” Jack passes Eric the jar.

Eric takes a shaky breath. Jack holds himself pressed against Eric for what feels like several long seconds before he steps back. It’s a telling sign that this evening is heading where Eric guessed it might.

Eric closes his eyes, and stays facing the pantry. Turning around now could only result in him dropping the can and kissing Jack until he can’t breathe. There’s a thrum under his skin that won’t go away. He wants to calm it before anything happens, because if it does and he hasn’t calmed down some… if he turns around and Jack stays as close as he is, and Eric brings his face up to Jack’s to kiss him… then he’s not going to last. He wants this night to last. Last and last so that when he gets on a plane tomorrow night, and flies back home, he’ll have hours of memories that will last too.

“I don’t have much experience,” Jack answers Eric’s question from earlier. Eric turns after hearing that Jack is far enough away from him. “Growing up, my father did all the cooking, and after I moved out I had no-one to teach me. It fell to the wayside, I guess.”

“That’s alright. Anyone can learn, and you seem pretty intelligent,” Eric compliments Jack. “You’ll have no problem.”

Jack ducks his head and thanks Eric.

“What do you want for dinner?” Eric asks Jack.

“Uh… Chicken tenders?”

Eric raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jack nods, then frowns. “Why? Is that hard to make?”

“Not at all,” Eric shakes his head, and puts the can of beans back into the pantry. “I just didn’t expect it. Looks like you’ve got the right ingredients, but we’ll need, chicken, and—”

Jack clears his throat and Eric turn to see him holding up a packet of chicken breasts triumphantly. Eric laughs at how gleeful he looks.

“Well alright. Are there eggs?”

Jack pulls them out of the fridge, holding them behind him. Eric takes them gently, worried that Jack waving them about is going to crush them.

“What else?” Jack asks

“Breadcrumbs, plain flour, salt and pepper, paprika.” Jack gets them out of the pantry, and they join the growing pile of ingredients on the counter.

“I think we’re ready,” Eric announces, to a stunning grin from Jack.

He makes them wash their hands before starting, and finds a solitary apron in a drawer that he makes Jack wear.

“How do you learn?” Eric asks. “Should I demonstrate stuff, or can I just describe so you can do it?”

Jack looks thrown by the question, and he blinks a few times before replying. “Visual learner, I guess.”

“So, we’ll do this copy-cat style. Here.”

Eric grabs the chicken to cut it into strips. “While I do this, can you get out three shallow bowls for the other ingredients.”

“Sure,” Jack says eagerly, pulling open a drawer to Eric’s left and grabbing them out. “And then?”

“Pour a little bit of the flour into one, and breadcrumbs into another,” Eric explains whilst keeping his eyes on his knife work.

“The third bowl?” Jack asks, when he’s finished.

“Can you crack an egg into it?”

“Are you asking me if I can crack an egg?” Jack asks with some hurt.

Eric laughs and shakes his head. “No, I assumed you could. Why? Can you not? Is that why you’re being so defensive?”

“I am _not_ being defensive.” Eric sees Jack go to hip-check him out the corner of his eye.

“Hold up, Jack. No play-fighting when I’ve got a knife in my hand.” Eric holds the knife up between them.

“Oops?”

Eric rolls his eyes. “Just go crack an egg. If you can, that is,” Eric can’t help to add.

Jack can crack eggs, just not very neatly. Eric has to talk him through the best technique for getting bits of shell out of the bowl. Jack is apologetic but Eric doesn’t mind. It gave him the chance to lean in close to Jack while he was demonstrating.

They stay close as Eric walks Jack through how to coat the chicken strips in the flour, egg, and breadcrumbs. Eric doesn’t know if Jack is playing up the visual learner aspect, because he stands right behind Eric, looking over his shoulder to ‘get the best angle’. Eric drops a chicken strip into the egg too quickly when Jack tilts in and their bodies press together.

“Maybe don’t do it just like that,” Eric has to say, not sure how closely Jack is planning on following his technique when he has his turn.

Jack does fine on his own, and Eric takes over the actual cooking when Jack’s finished coating all the chicken, leaving him to set the table and get out drinks for them, which turns out to be a very nice bottle of French wine. Eric laughs to himself that the wine probably cost more than the entire rest of the dinner, but Jack simply shrugs when he points it out, and hands Eric a very full glass.

“Better make the most of it, then. Courtesy of the company,” Jack takes an obnoxiously large sip, and Eric can see his throat working as he swallows. He smacks his lips after and Eric knows that it’s thoroughly un-charming, yet he’s not feeling that way. “Too bad I don’t know much about wine.”

“Oh?”

“More of a spirits person, actually. Couldn’t find any whiskey in the cupboard though.”

“Something else you inherited from your father?” Eric asks, cutting into a chicken strip to test whether they’re cooked.

“Mother, actually.”

“Huh,” Eric says in surprise. “I think the only alcohol my mother drinks is beer or champagne. There’s no in between.”

Jack laughs, and takes a daintier sip of his wine. Eric turns the burner off and starts transferring the strips onto the plates Jack has set up for them. He’d made Jack put together a quick salad for them when he was setting the table, and so he carries the plates over to the table with just the chicken on them.

Somehow, in the time between Eric and Jack talking, and Eric plating the food, Jack has disappeared from the kitchen.

“Jack?” Eric calls out hesitantly.

“Yeah! Sorry,” Jack comes back in from further the corridor, carrying his wine-glass still. “Wanted to get out of my shoes.”

Eric looks down and Jack is just in socks. It’s charmingly domestic, and Eric has to distract himself by moving to the sink to wash his hands again. “You too,” he says to Jack without looking. Jack butts right in beside Eric, sharing the stream of water.

“Where should I put my shoes?” Eric feels weird about having them on now that Jack’s made a point of mentioning it.

“Anywhere is fine, just out of the way.”

Eric toes them off under the table after he sits down, pushing them beneath an unused chair.

“Is this a family recipe?” Jack asks, sitting down across from Eric and refilling their wine glasses.

“No. I got it from a lady at work.” Jack takes a bite and Eric can see the look of pleasure that crosses his face. “Do you want me to write the recipe down for you?”

Jack nods eagerly, eating another forkful. Eric laughs at his eagerness and starts eating his own dinner.

It’s not unlike dinners he’s had with friends. They talk, and they tell stories, and they complain about things they both hate, and they tease each other, and they talk about a book it turns out they’d both taken on the trip. Jack’s feet tap into Eric’s under the table occasionally, and Eric reaches his hand across to touch Jack’s arms several times. Eric enjoys himself so much he stops thinking about how he’s leaving tomorrow, and just slips into being here with Jack.

It's near midnight before he realises. Leftovers from dinner stone cold, and wine bottle emptied. Jack puts his knife and fork together on his plate. Eric can hear a car going past outside, and the footsteps of someone walking. He feels like he did in front of the Monet paintings. Calm. Peaceful.

He smiles softly at Jack, appreciating everything that’s happened between them so far.

Jack clears his throat. “What time do you leave tomorrow?”

It’s a jarring reminder. Eric sighs out heavily. “Eight pm flight. I have to be at the airport by five, though.”

Jack nods slowly. “Do you have to be out of your apartment by a certain time?”

Eric shakes his head. “There was this whole _thing_ with booking the flights.”

“And?” Jack prompts, gaze heavy on Eric.

“I technically have the apartment for the day after, as well.”

“So,” Jack runs his fingers slowly around the edge of his plate, eyes still locked on Eric’s. “You don’t need to be back early for your stuff?”

“No.”

“Good.” Jack stands up and strides over to Eric, gaze heated. “Stay the night,” he says before reaching down and grabbing Eric’s face between his hands.

Eric stands up to meet Jack, and there’s hardly time for a breath before they’re kissing. Desperate and hard, but not rushed. Jack’s pressing his lips so forcefully against Eric’s that he can feel the pressure in his gums. Eric digs his fingers into Jack’s side, holding hard to show his interest.

Jack pulls back abruptly and sucks in a massive breath, which Eric echoes. Eric stares at Jack, feeling dizzy and aroused and _relieved_.

“Stay the night?” Jack asks this time—softly, and while running his fingers down Eric’s neck, shoulders, arms, to hold his hands. After the kiss, the hand holding somehow feels more intimate.

Eric leans on his toes to kiss Jack’s jaw. “Yes. I’d love too.”

Jack sighs. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure…” He looks down to their joined hands.

“Me either,” Eric admits, when Jack trails off, offering solidarity.

“But I’ve wanted to. Since the _first day_ ,” Jack stresses.

“Me too,” Eric admits again.

“We’ve wasted so much time,” Jack laments. It makes Eric’s stomach knot to hear Jack say it. He knows it, he’s known it from the start—it’s what’s been holding him back—but it’s one thing to know in your head, and another to verbalise into existence.

Eric puts his fingers over Jack’s lips, struck by a need to _not_ have the fact of his departure in the room with them.

Jack brings his head up again, looking with furrowed brow at Eric.

“Let’s not waste any more,” Eric suggests, before moving his hand so he can kiss Jack again.

It’s less desperate this time, and Eric can now feel the exact shape of Jack’s lips between his own. The angle is good, and then it’s not, and then it’s good again, and Eric tongues Jack’s upper lip, humming in response to Jack slipping his fingers up the back of his shirt.

Eric would swear that Jack’s entire focus is on him, yet he’s clearly mistaken, for Jack stops their kissing to sigh. He tugs at the back of Eric’s shirt, and presses their foreheads together.

“What is it?” Eric asks, breathing heavily, and totally thrown by Jack’s actions.

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“We can’t—Jack.” Eric grabs Jack’s face tight until he opens his eyes. “ _Tomorrow_. I haven’t yet. I’m here. With you.”

Eric kisses Jack with desperation, hoping to bring Jack back with him into this moment. It works. Jack’s hands stop tugging at his shirt and start pushing it up instead, big hands moving up his spine and pulling Eric in.

Eric for his part moves his hands back to bury in Jack’s hair, holding on to him as his own anchor. He’s leaving tomorrow, but that’s nothing right now. It can’t be. Eric won’t let it.

He pulls away from Jack’s lips, but stays close so that when he speaks, his lips brush over Jack’s parted ones anyway. “If I start thinking about it,” Eric says, “Make me stop. Make me stop, Jack.”

Jack nods, frantic, then kisses Eric again. Their bodies press together, and Jack’s is so hot Eric trembles and his skin heats, his hands are up under Jack’s shirt now, mirroring Jack’s and within moments they are sticky with sweat.

“Distract me.” Jack bites Eric’s lip, then kisses over the spot. “Do the same for me.”

“I will, I will,” Eric repeats, trying to tug himself into Jack but it’s impossible to get their bodies any closer.

They kiss and kiss and Eric’s never felt quite this rush before, like he needs to be in constant motion or else the whole thing will fade. So, he sucks on Jack’s lips, and runs his fingers up and down his back, around the hem of his pants. He only realises he’s moving his hips shallowly against Jack’s leg when Jack starts to push back.

Eric throws his head back with a groan and his eyes fly open. Jack kisses his neck, licking and biting too, and when he breathes into Eric’s ear, Eric shudders in pleasure, and sighs out.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Eric breathes out while Jack’s mouth is occupied. He doesn’t think his knees will hold him much longer.

Jack doesn’t stop kissing Eric, but he starts walking slowly backwards, navigating them awkwardly through the kitchen and dining room. He smacks into the table, where the glasses and plates and cutlery from dinner clatter at the impact. A fork slips to the ground.

“Tomorrow,” Jack insists, voice husky. Eric leaves the fork.

Once in the bedroom, Jack’s hand flops against the wall, searching for the light switch which he flicks on, then dims. Eric looks around. Simple bedroom. King bed with two matching bedside tables. Lamp. Desk with Jack’s laptop and bag. Closet. Camera bags against the far wall, where heavy curtains are already drawn closed.

Jack pulls Eric in with hands on his ass, still walking them backwards. Eric pushes Jack down when they’re close enough to the bed, and Jack moves back to lie properly, while Eric follows him on and straddles him, missing kissing him already, even though he’s barely gotten his breath back.

Eric pushes Jack’s shirt up his torso. He’s known that Jack is muscled, but seeing it makes Eric suck in his bottom lip, arousal pulsing. Jack is obscenely defined. Eric runs his hands up Jack’s chest, feeling his chest hair, moving his fingers lightly over Jack’s nipples. Jack arches up toward Eric’s moving hands.

Eric throws Jack’s shirt off to the side, not watching where it goes. He’s too busy moving down so he can kiss Jack’s chest, run his tongue over his stomach. Jack groans above him, and when Eric looks up, he’s got one hand trapped beneath the pillow, and another fisting in his own hair.

Eric moves back up to loosen Jack’s hand from his hair. Jack’s eyes snap open when he does, and his pupils are dilated so much more than Eric thought possible. It’s heady to see, and the way Jack’s breathing is laboured, his chest rising visibly, and his eyes darting rapidly over Eric’s face…

How could Eric have waited so long for this? What an idiot. He should have been braver, like he was that first day, approaching Jack and asking him to take his photo, and then asking to meet up with him the next day. Where had that courage gone, without which Eric and Jack danced around each other, neither admitting what they truly wanted until it was almost too late.

Jack sits up, and Eric’s forced to lean back against his calves to stay balanced.

“Hey,” Jack says, hand cupping Eric’s cheeks. “You with me?”

“Kiss me,” Eric says in answer.

As soon as Jack does—deeper and slower than before—Eric’s worrying thoughts fly away. Eric leans up into it as Jack kisses him with the confidence of knowing that Eric wants him to. Eric is impatient though, so he moves Jack’s hand away from his face so he has the space to take his own shirt off, then he grabs Jack by the shoulders and encourages him to move so that Eric’s on his back, with Jack half over the top of him.

Jack lays, propped on an elbow beside Eric, and looks him over. His eyes move slow, and Eric doesn’t feel nervous at all. He feels teased, like Jack’s gaze is a phantom brush down his stomach. Then Jack’s hand is there moving slow, with fingertips in swirls across his abdomen. Eric shudders. It’s half ticklish, and half arousing, and when Jack flicks a nipple Eric actually arches off the bed.

Jack looks to him, surprised, but repeats the move with his eyes locked on Eric. He can’t keep Jack’s gaze, as the repetitive to-and-fro of his fingertip over a nipple builds to a point of intense pleasure that he has to ask Jack to stop. Not with words, but by grabbing Jack’s hand and yanking. Jack falls down on top of him, his full body weight a comfort, heat and slick skin smothering Eric. He lifts his leg up to hook around Jack’s and pull him over so he’s properly above him.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Jack tells him.

“I’m motivated.”

Jack laughs, and leans down to kiss Eric, leaving one hand bedside Eric’s head, and using the other to unbutton his pants, and slide the zipper down. Eric watches, hands on Jack’s shoulders. Jack pushes down with one hand at the hem of Eric’s pants, and Eric lifts his hips to help him. Jack doesn’t get them down far one-handed, just enough that he can easily slip his hand inside Eric’s briefs to wrap around his cock.

Eric bites his lips as he watches, moaning softly when Jack tightens his grip. He can see Jack move his head to look up at him, but he’s so concentrated on the visual of Jack’s hand disappearing into his underwear that he can’t meet his gaze. Jack drops his head down again, and together, they watch him slowly move his hand over Eric.

“Jack,” Eric has to whine eventually, needy.

“What do you want?” Jack asks, stopping his movements to look at Eric.

This time, Eric does meet his gaze. The only sound he can hear is their breathing. Eric shakes his head, too flustered to decide. He’s said he’s bad at making decisions, and this feels like an important one. This could be the only time this happens, so he wants everything, but there isn’t the time or space for that.

“I want… to watch you come,” Eric says.

Jack nods jerkily, and leans in to kiss Eric quickly. He kisses down his jaw and his neck and his shoulder, and curves himself over Eric to kiss his collarbones a few times before he lies down on his side to Eric’s right.

“This work?” Jack asks, encouraging Eric onto his side so they’re facing each other. “I want to see you too.”

Eric shivers at the words, and his hips thrust forward, bringing him into contact with Jack, who’s similarly hard. Jack closes his eyes and hums, and Eric kisses his throat, feeling the vibration beneath his lips as Jack makes more noise.

He trails his fingers over Jack’s chest, sides, feels the planes of his muscles and the jut of his hipbone. While continuing to kiss Jack, he feels his way, unzipping Jack’s jeans, and moving his hand to cup his cock through his briefs.

Jack guides Eric’s hand inside his underwear, and Eric wraps his hand eagerly around Jack, loving how hot he feels. Jack groans into Eric’s mouth as Eric tightens his grip, keeping his movements slow, still measuring the breadth of Jack.

“Can you— _More_ ,” Jack asks brokenly, and Eric reacts to the words.

He tightens even more and speeds up, hooking his left leg over Jack’s thighs to bring them in closer. Jack mimics Eric’s pace, and Eric can’t sustain his kissing, having to instead gasp in air as Jack works him over, and his skin bursts with pinpricks of sensitivity.

He realises his eyes are closed when Jack, says, “Hey, you with me?”

Eric opens them to see Jack looking at him, worry in his eyes. “In the moment, yeah?” Jack encourages, breathless, eager.

Eric nods. “Yes, yes. I am. It just…” he bites off a moan as Jack picks up again, the momentum he’d stopped earlier when checking on Eric. “You’re making me feel _really_ good.”

Jack grins lopsided at him. “Well good,” he whispers into Eric’s ear, the warm air causing Eric to shudder and thrust into Jack’s curled fist. Jack licks over the shell of Eric ear, and it’s always been a sensitive area for him, but Jack’s making his body go haywire.

He’s sweating, and Jack is too, he can see it glistening, damp across his chest, and on his forehead. He smells amazing, and Eric leans in, tempted to lick Jack’s chest to taste it, but Jack moves before he can, rolling away.

“I need to take these fucking jeans off,” he pants. Jack lifts his hips up to drag them down his legs and kick them off the end of the bed, briefs too. He groans out in relief.

Eric chokes on his tongue, pushing himself up onto his knees to see Jack better. Naked, he’s incredible. Eric is turned around by the sight of Jack, skin glistening, chest heaving, impressively hard.

“Fuck,” he says emphatically.

Jack opens his eyes lazily, and looks up to Eric beneath his lashes. It makes Eric want to tie him down and touch him all over, every flushed inch of him.

“Like what you see?” Jack asks cockily, clenching his stomach muscles so his abs gain somehow more definition.

Eric’s mouth opens and closes, but he’s lost his words. He goes to move and wobbles on his knees, almost falling onto Jack. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing. His own pants are halfway down his thighs and obstructing him, so he shucks them, throwing them away half-heartedly, already moving himself over Jack, straddling his thighs so he can line their cock’s up and wrap a hand as far around them both as it will go.

“Much better,” Eric sighs out, thrusting. “God, you feel…”

Jack adds his hand around them both. It’s a dry friction, but there’s so much heat that it almost doesn’t matter. Jack uses his stomach muscles to lever himself up and kiss Eric, open mouthed and wet.

“Feel what?” he asks against Eric’s lips.

Eric kisses Jack, tongue feeling along Jack’s, encouraging it into his own mouth so he can mould his lips around it and suck in a mimicry of something else.

“Fantastic,” Eric answers eventually, short of breath and moving quickly to the cusp of coming. “Amazing. Jack, you’re—ah—so hot.”

Jack kisses Eric sloppily on his cheek. “You too. Here. I need—”

Jack takes his hand off them, and brings Eric’s up with his. Eric keeps moving, thrusting shallowly so their cocks rub together. Jack holds his gaze as he brings his hand to his face and licks Eric’s palm. Eric watches, fascinated, as Jack covers his hand, breaking to suck on his thumb at one point, before going back to covering Eric’s hand in spit. He moves it back down to wrap around them, and the slickness is so much better than before.

Eric closes his eyes and tilts his head back to focus in on the feeling of his own hand stripping them off together. Jack kisses his exposed throat, and Eric brings up his free hand to hold him there, loving the way it feels as Jack begins to nip at his skin, his tongue works over and over on the same spot, sucking a mark onto his skin. Eric doesn’t think his top will cover it tomorrow, but god he doesn’t want it to. He wants that mark. He wants that memory.

Jack’s hands are holding onto Eric’s ass, kneading. He thrusts as much as he can into Eric’s hand, and Eric’s bouncing up and down with the movement of Jack’s thighs. Jack brings up a hand to play with Eric’s nipples, and Eric whimpers, and moves a hand to Jack’s shoulder to grip as his body shudders so much it’s almost painful. Jack looks up to him for a moment, then bends to lick over a nipple.

Eric’s dropped his hand from their cocks by now, too overwhelmed to focus on anything but how he feels like he’s on fire from the inside.

“Close,” he tells Jack. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“Not going to,” Jack gets out around kissing Eric’s chest.

He flips them suddenly so Eric is on his back, Jack leaning over him, knees either side of him, eyes hungry. He wraps a hand around Eric’s cock and moves, fast, gathering pre-come from the leaking tip to make it smoother. Eric tries to time it, to thrust up into Jack’s hand in a rhythm, but he can’t focus enough to find it. Jack’s kissing him one minute, breathing into his ear the next, then dragging his teeth over the darkening marks on Eric’s collar, then flicking a tongue on Eric’s sensitive nipples. Eric’s mouth is open and his breathing loud. His hands flex out as he tries to hold on as long as he can against Jack’s ministrations, wanting to draw it out forever. Eric feels it inescapably though, as he moves past the brink, he grabs Jack’s face from where he’s been kissing his neck, and brings it up to kiss him hard hard hard until Eric’s coming, and he can’t kiss Jack anymore because his whole body has gone taught, and he’s biting down on his own lip.

Jack works him through it, Eric thrusting feebly a few times before his body goes pliant, pinpricks exploding over him, sending tingles wherever Jack is touching him.

Jack kisses Eric’s closed eyelids then the side of his mouth. “That was incredible.” He kisses Eric again. “You’re incredible.”

Eric laughs weakly, positively relieved and giddy. Sated in a way that he has gone too long without.

Eric opens his eyes and takes in Jack still straddling him, cock proudly erect. He rubs his hand up his own chest, gathering the still-warm come to use as makeshift lube. He moves his hand slowly over Jack’s cock, twisting around so it’s coated in his semen, then he pulls away.

“I wanted to watch you come,” Eric says measuredly.

Jack breathes in deeply. “Then watch.”

Eric grins, pleased, and wraps his hand back around Jack. He starts slow, enjoying watching how Jack’s eyelids flutter in pleasure as Eric slides his thumb across his cockhead with every other stroke. Jack makes noises in the back of his throat, deep groans that rumble out of him, encouraging Eric. He gradually, slowly, increases the pressure and speed until Jack’s bracing himself up with his hands either side of Eric’s head and thrusting with abandon. He grunts with every thrust and Eric doesn’t even think he’s aware of it.

“Come on, Jack.” Eric feels that he’s close. His hand is almost burning from the friction.

Jack whines. “Fuck, Eric. Okay. Yes.”

Eric can feel Jack preparing to move himself away. He doesn’t care for that.

“On me,” he says clearly.

Jack’s hips stutter and his thrusting loses time. He looks into Eric’s eyes, expression openly wanting.

“Holy shit. Really?”

“Yes.”

Jack kisses Eric quickly, then moves to bury his head in the pillow beside Eric’s head, thrusting frantically again, as Eric works to meet him. Jack pulls himself back suddenly.

“You wanted to watch me,” he gets out before his mouth is opening in a silent ‘O’, and he’s coming over Eric’s bare chest.

Jack stays with his mouth open, gasping in air above Eric. Eric keeps a hold of Jack, feeling him soften in his hand. He smooths the other hand over Jack’s thigh, and Jack grins lazily at him before moving off to flop beside him. He reaches behind him and brings a box of tissues over to the bed, offering them to Eric, who takes some to wipe off the come on his chest.

Eric looks around for a bin, but can’t see one.

“In the bathroom,” Jack answers an unspoken question.

Eric throws them away and takes the time to drink some tap water. In the mirror, the bruises on his chest look much darker than Eric had imagined. When he comes back in, Jack’s propped up on his elbows watching him, eyes moving slowly over Eric’s body. He can see Jack noticing the hickeys too.

“I…” Jack laughs softly. “I don’t know what to say.”

Eric curls himself up beside Jack, who moves an arm under Eric to pull him in closer.

“Talking isn’t required.”

“If you’re implying we should go again, I don’t think I’m up for it.”

Eric headbutts Jack’s chest playfully with the limited energy he can muster. “I wasn’t.”

Jack nods, and then the room becomes silent. Eric isn’t sure what time it is. His body feels boneless, and he’s being lulled by the steady rise and fall of Jack’s chest beneath his cheek.

Jack starts talking, words slow and voice deep, about what Eric should do on his last day in Paris. Eric’s eyes slip shut, picturing what Jack describes. The Louvre and a picnic lunch (“with me, of course”). Before he can talk about the part Eric dreads, Eric halts Jack with a hand on his mouth. He’s been falling asleep listening.

Jack looks at him, amused. He kisses Eric’s hand.

“Thought you were asleep,” Jack tells him.

“Almost,” Eric slurs. “I remember thinking your voice was soothing, when I first met you. Could put me to sleep.”

“Do you want me to?” Jack brushes hair off Eric’s forehead, but it just curls itself back into place. Jack keeps trying and Eric relaxes into the steady rhythm of it.

“No,” he sighs out. “I’ll sleep on the plane tomorrow. I don’t want to waste time.”

“Neither do I,” Jack murmurs, “but I-” Jack yawns loudly in Eric’s ear. “Sorry.”

Eric shrugs, not minding.

“I’m getting sleepy. I think I need to get up and do something if you want us to stay awake.”

Eric’s feeling it too—a drowsiness that’s making him sink further into the bed with every stroke of Jack’s fingers against his forehead as he continues to brush Eric’s hair.

“Okay.” Eric pushes himself up languorously, until he’s sitting against the headboard. Jack looks up at him, reclining still, lower down on the bed. His eyes droop with tiredness, but his smile is sure.

“Hot chocolate?” Eric asks, tapping his fingers onto Jack’s shoulder then away.

Jack hums. “Sounds wonderful.”

He rolls himself off the bed, and Eric looks over him, the miles of skin on display with a carelessness that Eric can’t help but feel flattered by. To see Jack comfortable like this in front of him has a loop effect back to Eric, and he crawls out of bed onto the same side Jack is on, wrapping arms around him from behind to kiss his back, and the few moles on it. Jack chuckles and wraps his arms backwards around Eric before stepping away. He smiles over his shoulder at Eric and goes to his wardrobe.

“It’ll be cold out there. Do you want to borrow something to wear?”

Eric nods. “Thanks, Jack.”

Jack pulls out a sweatshirt and a pair of thin drawstring pants. Eric changes beside Jack, rolling the pants up at the ankle, watching Jack with an obviousness while he zips up his own hoodie. Eric grabs Jack’s hand when they’re done, because it’s right there. Jack leans to kiss him, and Eric presses back sleepily, just a little pressure.

Eric leads them into the kitchen and pulls out the ingredients in silence, while Jack watches from over his shoulder. Jack can’t seem to keep his hands off Eric, and Eric doesn’t mind it at all. He’s only doing what Eric wants anyway; making the most of tonight.

“Saucepan?” Eric turns around, and Jack presses him gently against the counter, cupping his face in his big hands and kissing Eric slowly.

“One somewhere,” Jack answers, before kissing him again.

Hot chocolate can wait, and it does for minutes, as Jack keeps kissing Eric, and Eric keeps kissing back, putting his hands into the back pockets of Jack’s track pants, just resting them there. Their lips move together, slow but sure, and Eric takes his time letting his tongue explore the shape of Jack’s mouth. The bow of his upper lip, the plumpness of his lower. The edge of his tongue and the sharpness of his teeth. It’s different from before, when they were in bed and driven by a sharper kind of need. Eric likes this just as much. He could be content to spend the rest of the night doing this, and leave tomorrow with bruised lips as a reminder. He’s falling asleep though, lulled by the heat of Jack’s body.

“Jack,” Eric whispers between kisses.

Jack kisses him one last time. “I’ll get the saucepan.”

He walks backwards from Eric to the other side of the kitchen. Eric watches him with a fond smile before turning to get out implements to make the hot chocolate.

Eric works in silence, as Jack stands beside him, hand on Eric’s hip beneath his sweatshirt.

“Cinnamon?” Eric asks.

Jack shakes his head and Eric puts it back on the spice rack.

Jack grates chocolate into the saucepan while Eric stirs. Jack’s hand ends up covered in chocolate. Reminded of the crepes, Eric makes Jack take over stirring so he can lift Jack’s hand by the wrist to his mouth. Jack draws in a deep breath. Eric licks the chocolate away. It’s not sensual—it’s intimate. Jack stirs steadily, and when Eric’s done, whispers, “Come here”, and pulls him gently by the chin so Jack can use his tongue to get the chocolate at the corners of Eric’s mouth.

Jack finds them mugs, and Eric fills them right to the brim. They carry them over to the kitchen bench, pushing aside the forgotten cutlery from dinner. Eric blows gently on his, watching Jack as he closes his eyes to inhale before taking a sip. His eyelashes are long and straight, and Eric can see a prettiness to his face he hadn’t noticed before.

“Perfect,” Jack compliments him.

“Thanks. It’s one of the first things I ever made by myself.”

Jack, in the middle of another sip, raises his eyebrows for Eric to continue.

“I really wanted to bake with my mama, but she wouldn’t let me near knives. I don’t know why an open flame was any better,” Eric muses, finally taking a sip of his own. He normally adds spice to his, but the warmth and thickness of the milk remains the same.

“I don’t remember the first thing I cooked for myself. Does toast count?” Jack asks with a mock serious expression.

Eric rolls his eyes and Jack laughs softly at him. Everything seems soft to Eric right now. The way they sit loose-limbed in baggy clothes, how their hushed words are spaced out around the silence of the night.

After taking another sip, Eric says, “I bet you remember the first photos you took by yourself.”

Jack nods. “I do actually.” He puts his drink down and moves his chair closer to Eric’s. Their knees knock together.

“Do you remember,” Jack begins, bringing his hands up between them and holding them a few inches apart, “those old, disposable film cameras?”

Eric does. His parents used to get them for his school camps. Most of his photos were horrible, but some of them are hilarious and still make him laugh.

“I bought one with my pocket money when I was five,” Jack says after Eric nods. “Well, my mother bought it for me. Semantics.” Jack shakes his head, looking down, and Eric takes the opportunity to drink more hot chocolate while he waits for Jack to continue.

“I had absolutely _no_ patience. The entire roll was pictures of my house. Not even that exciting. Except that,” Jack pauses, and looks up at Eric. Eric can actually see the same light in his eyes that he had the other day when talking to Eric about his photography. “I _was_ excited by it.”

Eric pictures a five-year old Jack running around his house, photographing with glee. It’s not hard to imagine, nor is it hard to say Jack finds that same excitement in photography still.

“Did you keep the photos?” Eric wonders.

Jack laughs. “Yes. They’re in a horribly embarrassing album my mother keeps on her shelf.”

“Why are they embarrassing?”

“They’re just… _so_ _bad_. I wanted to throw them out after I started learning how to actually take photos, but my parents forbid it.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Jack smiles and shakes his head. “Not ominous. They just like having it to bring out when they think I’m getting an ‘ego’.” Jack says it with fondness.

“Sounds kinda nice. That your parents tease you like that.”

“It is. We’re pretty close.”

Eric wonders what meeting Jack’s parents would be like. He can’t picture it clearly because he knows little about them except that Jack’s mother worked in France for a while. He pushes the thoughts aside. They’re reminding him that he won’t have a future with Jack beyond tomorrow. Just memories stuck in the past.

Eric drains his hot chocolate and spends the time Jack takes to finish watching him. As he does, he gathers together the dirty dishes from dinner, ready to carry them to the sink. He’s too tired to deal with them now.

Eric rests his hand on Jack’s leg, spreading his fingers out wide to see how far around Jack’s thigh they can stretch. Not that far. Jack slips his fingers in-between Eric’s and then they’re holding hands, and Jack is returning his mug to the table and pulling Eric up. He slips a hand around Eric’s back so they’re standing in a pseudo waltz pose.

“I feel like we should be listening to jazz or something,” Eric tells Jack, placing his hand on Jack’s shoulder.

Jack smiles, and slowly starts rocking them side to side. “I could sing?”

“Really?”

“Not really.”

“Ah. I’m disappointed.”

It’s a gentle kind of teasing. Whispered, and delivered without edge. Eric likes how it feels to hear it from Jack. So easy and so sweet. They continue to rock side to side, Eric leaning forward to lay his cheek against Jack’s chest.

“What do you want to do? Before I—”

“No.” Jack pulls Eric in quickly. Eric looks up, concerned. “You were going to say, ‘before I leave’, weren’t you?”

Eric bites his lip and nods.

“Am I still meant to be distracting you?”

Eric sighs. “I just can’t help but think about it.”

Jack loosens his hold, and starts rocking Eric again, moving them away, little by little, from the table.

“You were talking about your parents, and I just thought… I just realised I would never meet them.”

“You want to meet my parents?”

“It’s not really about your parents. It’s about… not seeing you again.”

“Ah.”

Jack continues to move them slowly. Eric lets himself be led back to the bedroom.

“That reminds me,” Jack pulls back from Eric, and walks over to one far wall. “I have all these pictures of you, and you have none of me.”

Jack takes out the camera Eric knows is his personal one, and holds it out in front of him. Eric isn’t sure whether it’s a distraction from the previous topic, or something Jack has been meaning to bring up. Eric walks over to take it from him carefully, because he knows how much Jack cares. He slips the strap around his neck and switches it on. There are a few too many buttons for him, but he can figure out enough basics to lift the camera, point it at Jack, and take a photo.

The flash is on and Jack shuts his eyes reflectively against it.

“Oops. Sorry. How do I?” Eric gestures to the camera.

Jack blinks several times, coming around beside Eric. He presses a button while Eric holds the camera still for him.

“Try now.”

Eric lifts the camera up to Jack again and takes another photo.

“I want to…” Eric looks down at the image on the view screen. Jack photographs well. Something about the soft light on his cheekbones and the fall of his hair. “I want… Can I… Can I take a copy home? Please?”.

Jack reaches out for Eric, tugging on his borrowed top to pull them in close together. Eric’s still looking down at the camera between them.

“Of course, Eric.” Jack kisses Eric’s forehead. “That’s why I offered. So, I… or, well, I should—May I keep the ones of you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, looking up at Jack. “Yes, I’d like that.”

-

It’s after taking dozens of photos of Jack—some ridiculous, some sentimental—that Eric decides he needs to know.

“Jack.” He waits until Jack’s looking at him with full attention, hands stilling where they’re drying the last plate. The sun’s creeping over the horizon and they’ve finally gotten around to washing them. “What happens to us tomorrow?”

Jack resumes his task slowly. He puts away the dish then lingers by the cabinet, his back to Eric. Eric holds his breath because the quiet in the room is fragile.

“What do you want to happen?” Jack stays across the kitchen.

Eric lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Not sure.” It’s true, and it isn’t. What he wants is more of Jack—time, love, photos, anything—but he doesn’t want to seem overeager, or give Jack a reason to brush him away.

Eric knows that for him, leaving won’t be simple. He won’t be able to go back and get on with his life as though nothing has happened. Every new person is going to have to compare to—to compete with—Jack. Eric doesn’t know whether that’s good or bad. Will he go back and want someone _like_ Jack… or will he go back and want _Jack_. It’s a choice, and Eric can’t reconcile his feelings into one answer. His Monet is now a riot of colours that get blurrier the further away he gets.

“What do you want?” Eric throws the question back to Jack, getting a shrug in response that brings them full circle. It has Eric thinking they may be on the same page. “Are you lying?” he asks Jack, curious as to why Jack hasn’t turned back to face him.

Jack sighs out heavily. “No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“It’s alright. I’m the same,” Eric admits.

Jack looks over his shoulder at him. “Really?”

Eric nods.

“I just feel-” Jack cuts himself off, choking on emotion that Eric could hear.

“Like you don’t know what you feel,” Eric suggests for him, drawing on his own thoughts.

Jack tilts his head sharply, but after holding Eric’s gaze for a second or two, he turns to face him properly and nods.

“I feel like we should say goodbye.” It’s hard to say out loud, but Eric pushes it out because he deserves to be honest for himself and Jack. “It’s sensible, isn’t it. We live in different countries, and we—I mean, three days. It shouldn’t be hard.”

He takes a deep breath and goes on. “But… I feel like… Like I don’t want us to, because you’re…” Eric moves his hands in circles front of him, trying to grasp onto what’s going on inside him. “I’ll go back and one day I’ll meet someone else, and they’ll be great, wonderful even, but…” Eric looks to Jack. “They won’t be you.”

He drops his hands. Jack’s eyes soften, but the little crease between his eyebrows remains.

Eric wishes there was more washing to do. A reason to break the stare between him and Jack. It feels out of place in the morning light.

Jack hums a refrain unfamiliar to Eric, then mutters down to his feet, clear enough for Eric to hear, “This could be the love of a lifetime even if it lasts a week”. Eric tries to remember the words to look them up later.

“I think I know what you mean. It’s as if…” Jack hesitates, but Eric waits him out. “You’ve either set my expectations at a new level, or… you are my… you’re it.”

Silence again. Jack’s words have confirmed that he and Eric are on the same page though, a fact which settles Eric’s shaking hands.

“You know, I’ve never believed in love at first sight,” Jack says, surprising Eric and sending his heartbeat into overdrive with one word in particular. “My parents say that’s how they felt when they met. They’ve told the story so often. I like hearing it, but I’ve never really believed it all the way. How can you know that about someone you met an hour ago?”

Eric finds himself nodding along, but really, he’s always been a believer. He’s never had a real-life role-model though, not like Jack. He had to rely on imagination and works of fantasy.

“I don’t—I think it’s still… not the right words to describe it. First sight?” Jack shakes his head and Eric can tell a little of what he’s thinking—that it’s not reliable as an indication of love. “When we first met, I wasn’t even considering it. But when you asked me to meet the next day I said yes without stopping to think. I surprised myself.”

“I surprised myself by asking,” Eric adds on to Jack’s speech. “I’m not normally that confident.”

“Me either.” Jack walks over and takes Eric’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles. “I don’t think—It’s like you said. It’s been three days. But, I guess, whatever this is, it’s almost—is it strange to say?… familiarity.”

It’s not a word Eric has associated with him and Jack. He works it around in his head. “What do you mean?”

Jack lifts their joined hands up. “What does this feel like to you?”

Eric isn’t sure how literal, if at all, Jack means the question. “Warm. Comforting. Nice.”

“Comforting,” Jack picks out. “Not making you nervous? Butterflies?”

“Uh, not really,” Eric answers, taking stock of his insides.

“That’s what I mean. Think about it from an outsider’s perspective. We met three days ago. Don’t all the books and movies say that we should be feeling those butterflies and getting tongue-tied?”

Eric considers, then nods.

“Yet, we do something like this, and it’s—what did you say?—nice. The way we talk to each other, it feels natural to me. I don’t have to think before I speak, and I’ve happily—eagerly—spoken to you about things I…” Jack sighs out. “Do you get what I’m trying to say?” He asks, looking pleadingly at Eric.

Eric looks away while he thinks. It’s not true that he _hasn’t_ felt giddiness and excitement and nerves around Jack, but thinking on it now he’s also felt those marks of familiarity. Talking with Jack _is_ easy. Maybe it wasn’t always, like on the first day with their misunderstanding, or when Eric was trying to figure out what Jack felt toward him. Maybe that’s why Eric hasn’t noticed it before now. He’s been worrying over what their relationship was and could be. When he hasn’t been though, familiarity is an apt word for the situation. Eric _has_ noticed how easily they banter back and forth, teasing and poking fun because there’s an understanding there that the other won’t be offended—something that you shouldn’t be able to know about a person at first meeting.

“Familiarity,” Eric says aloud, looking to Jack again. “I like that.”

“So, you get it?” Jack asks hopefully.

“Well, I… yes. I get it.”

Jack beams at Eric and kisses his knuckles again, keeping their hands entwined as he leans back on the counter beside Eric.

“You asked what happens to us after tomorrow.”

“I did.”

“Let’s play it out.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asks.

“A game my mother used to do with me when I was anxious. Let’s play out the situations, all the ways this—us—could go.”

“All the ways? I thought—” Eric thought this was it. One night, one goodbye.

“There’s never just one,” Jack says, perhaps picking up on Eric’s confusion. “We can start there though. With…” Jack stops. His hand tightens around Eric’s.

“With saying goodbye,” Eric finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, a croak in his voice. “And we don’t see each other again.”

Eric’s next breath catches in his throat.

“Or,” Jack continues, “we keep in touch.”

“How?”

“Hypothetically… any way you want.”

“Texting?” Eric inquires, warming up to Jack’s game.

“Sure, yes.” Jack nods. “Email too. We’ve been doing both already.”

“Skype as well then. I’ll want to see you.”

Jack smiles at Eric. “Me too. Is every day too much?”

Eric wants to say no, but if it’s just a hypothetical, and if it’s a game for now, he may as well tell the truth.

“Too much with work. Once a week? Or—no, wait—one weekday, one weekend?”

“Twice sounds good. Skype sex, yay or nay?” Jack asks with a wink.

“Uh,” Eric starts, flustered though he shouldn’t be. “I guess, yes. Eventually. I’ll probably want to, but I haven’t done that before,” he admits to Jack.

“Me neither. We’ll learn together.”

The way Jack says it makes it sound like an inevitability.

Eric tries to think of other ways they could stay in touch, what he’d want, and—being honest with himself—what he’s imagined in bed at night in that crazy fantasy where he and Jack stay together after Paris. “Phone calls?”

“Ah, I’m awkward on the phone. But if you want to,” Jack shrugs. “I’d try.”

“So…” Eric can’t help himself. “Phone sex, yay or nay?”

Jack gives him an unimpressed look. “ _Yes_. Snapchat for the same reason?”

Eric laughs. “I think we’re getting off topic here.”

“You’re being distracting.”

“How?”

Jack touches his cheek. “You’re blushing.”

His cheeks do feel warm. Maybe that’s Jack’s fingers.

“What about face to face?” Eric says to try and move Jack’s focus.

“Face to face sex with you? Very much yes.”

“Jack!” Eric manages to get out before Jack is reeling him and kissing him, purposefully filthy.

Jack pulls back and nods. “Just teasing. Definitely. Alternating between you and me?”

“Or meeting in the middle. We could do holidays like this.”

“Yes,” Jack says enthusiastically. “I’d love to take you to a beach.”

“The beach,” Eric says longingly, imagining lying out in the sun with Jack. “And I’ve always wanted to go to Japan.”

“Me too. It’s perfect.”

Eric kisses Jack, feeling light despite the knowledge of his impending departure. He’s kissing Jack with enthusiasm and distracting himself before he realises why that is. When it hits him, he stops abruptly and pulls back from Jack.

“Jack, do you—” He chews on his lip, hand reaching for Jack’s hoodie zipper to fiddle with. “Does this… Does this still feel like a hypothetical to you?”

Jack tilts his head, stilling himself. “No. It feels like…” He turns away from Eric, brow furrowed. When he looks back something like resolution has settled over his face. He smiles small but with confidence. “It feels like a plan.”

-

“You didn’t have to come with me to the airport,” Eric tells Jack for possibly the tenth time that evening.

“’Course I did. You might have gotten lost.”

Eric pulls his suitcase along behind him, trying to find the right check-in for his flight back to America. Last night’s lack of sleep has caught up with him, and he’s dragging his body slowly past other passengers. That’s his excuse anyway, really, there’s also a big part of him trying to draw this departure out.

“This is me.” Eric halts in front of check-in. He wishes foolishly for a plane delay, but the departures screen shows his flight as ‘on-time’.

Jack takes Eric’s hand, holding tightly. “I know it’s not a goodbye,” he says, “but it still feels like one.”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees lowly.

Jack sighs. “Three months though.”

Eric swallows and nods. “Why can’t it be here already?”

A call comes over the speakers in French. “They’re calling you flight,” Jack informs Eric.

Suddenly, he’s on the cusp of crying. He’s done so well avoiding it all morning, and now his vision is blurring with unshed tears.

Jack moves in front of Eric. “Message me when you land, will you?”

Eric opens his mouth, but finds his throat is blocked. He nods.

Jack wraps his arms around Eric tightly, and Eric folds his arms up between their stomachs, hands flattened on Jack’s chest. He breathes in deep, memorising the feel of being in Jack’s arms.

“Three months, three months,” Jack repeats like a mantra in Eric’s ear. Eric knows it’s meant to be comforting, but it’s hard to feel it that way.

He creeps his hands up Jack’s chest to the sides of his face, pulling him down so he can press their lips together, quick and firm. He counts to three then draws back.

There are no words that he can think to say right now, so he says nothing. His eyes stay on Jack’s as he joins the end of the queue. Jack stays standing in a sea of moving people, his eyes always on Eric’s. Eric is trying to commit this Jack to memory because though he has photos now—dozens of them—the real thing will always be better.

At the front of the queue he has to break their eye-contact. He fumbles for his passport and flight booking, and has to move some books from his suitcase to get under the weight limit. He’s afraid when he turns Jack will have left, but no. he’s still there. Eric can’t help but sigh in relief, and the woman at the counter has to encourage him along through security.

It’s unsubstantial, and Jack deserves more, but Eric lifts his hand in a wave and tries to put an encouraging smile on his face. _Three months_ , he mouths.

Jack repeats it back.

One final look, and then Eric walks on to security, where big walls of grey cut Jack off from him. The tears return, not a threat this time, but very real. He stands against the wall for a few moments until they pass. Wiping his eyes, Eric gets out his phone, and opens a recently created document on it. His and Jack’s unofficial manifesto for their long-distance relationship. Dates for pre-planned Skype sessions, usernames for twitter and Instagram and snapchat, emails, phone numbers, home addresses, and at the bottom in all caps, ‘three months’ and reference numbers for flights already booked.

When Eric boards the plane an hour later, it’s an ending, but it isn’t the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
>  
> 
> [Find M's artwork on tumblr.](http://happyzimm.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)
> 
>  
> 
> [Find more of my writing on tumblr.](http://17piesinseptember.tumblr.com/tagged/mine)


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